Six Degrees
by Alfisti
Summary: In the world of espionage, nothing is a coincidence. The Blacker Fratello's adventure continues.
1. Prologue

**SIX DEGREES**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Spring in the tropics, a first taste of summer's wet bringing with it promise of rain and dank humidity to come, turning winter's dry heat into a muggy sauna; one only to be broken by thundering storms. For now, however, those had yet to eventuate, and evening instead offered a welcome respite for the inhabitants of Panama City. A light breeze, mingling with the song of cicadas, carried sweet jungle scents down from darkened hills above, cooling sun-baked streets and drawing people back onto their pavements in the wake of afternoon's sullen torridity.

Feeling the air's cool touch, Sir Algernon Herbert shifted a red telephone handset to his other palm, chair swivelling to let it wash over him, wafting through tall French doors and into the darkened office, mixing with lazily turning fans in the gloom high above. Saving one ear for arguing voices emanating from the secure line's far end, he tapped idly at a thick, hide-bound diary, placed open on his desk blotter, with the blunt end of a fountain pen, engraved gold nib glinting under the desk lamp's warm glow. Late though it may be, if Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service wanted its head of station available, then he made himself available, surrounded by deep wood panelling, vaulted ceilings, leather chair and all... which at least made the wait slightly more pleasant. The other consolation of course was that, if it was late for him here, _someone_ must have made it into Vauxhall Cross very early indeed, assuming they had even gone home in the first place.

Part of him still wished they would get to the point a mite quicker though.

_And if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. Patience my lad, M will get there soon enough, once everyone has had a chance to vent._

From below the terrace onto which his office fronted came the churn of an engine starting, diesel clatter resonating around courtyard walls of this Spanish-Colonial villa. As if aware of its need to compete for his attention, the conversation on the line's other end ratcheted up a notch. Seemingly discussions were coming to a head, which meant it was also probably approaching about the time where making some input may actually be worthwhile.

"If I may intercede for a moment, gentlemen..." for a second there was no change, then M's calm tones, halting the conversation, "...thank you. Algernon Herbert, Central American Station. I would suggest that sending another agent eastwards may not be the best course of action. The Chinese tolerate us in and around Hong Kong to an extent, but if their Ministry of State Security decides we're getting too heavy handed, they are likely to cause more problems than are solved... especially as we were _supposed_ to have given the place back to them."

Another pause while the conference sorted itself back into some semblance of order, and once more to let it begin making headway again, an irritated voice announced as hailing from the Far East Station bullying its way to the front.

That should give them something else to bicker over for awhile longer, but eventually the callers would wind up somewhere sensible again.

_Eventually._

It was just the waiting for them to do so which caused vexation.

The heavy Bakelite handset was shifted to his other ear again.

Another puff of cool breeze, another whiff of jungle... the sounds of a city night starting to mix with those of nature carried on the wind, faint in the background. Taking a remote station posting had its perks: a certain autonomy and freedom to run things as one saw fit, which was why, perhaps, calls such as this tended to drag on so.

Tap, tap, tap, went the pen.

_Heads of station conference: too many kings, used to ruling their own little kingdoms._

The Far East station head was talking again, and Algy let him get to the end of his sentence before interjecting once more.

"We're all under-resourced Charlie, you know that. I'm only saying if you've already one agent with their back against a wall, it might not hurt to display a tot extra of discretion..." He paused again, allowing the irritated retort die down. "...I wasn't suggesting any lack of discretion to begin with. However, as a whole, our little circus needs to exercise caution: Hong Kong is no longer our own backyard. If we are caught playing the Game too hard the Chinese may just start to push back more, which could make life around Asia very difficult indeed. Ideally someone more deniable would suit any intervention, someone we've got evidence on to say 'not ours' if things go awry, and with some recourse to proof beyond our own simple denials..." He paused, letting the words hang as another thought occurred, "...someone who doesn't work for us anymore... in fact, I think I may know just the chap. Though finding him is going to be a challenge."


	2. CH01 Lost in Translation

**SIX DEGREES**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

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><p><em>Thanks to Kiskaloo for the loan of Michele Pagani and Kara, and Professor Voodoo for Genco Ribisi.<em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 01|Lost in Translation<strong>

Springtime in Italy, bringing to thawing Apennine foothills the first breath of summer, sunlight pushing in long golden spears through lightening clouds and signalling an end to grey winter days, with the promise of blue skies to come.

Not that one could tell from here.

Heels sinking into soft rubber flooring, Monty ran sharp eyes up the Social Welfare Agency Medical Department gym's tall walls. Climbing past canvas-fronted padding, and through bands of rough-cut concrete where two higher levels had been removed, a necessity when the space's regular users were perfectly capable of jumping a storey or more, her gaze finally came to rest upon ground-level windows far above.

_Certainly_ not from here.

Most cyborgs developed a... _distaste_... for the gym: its odour of stale sweat, chalk and rubber unpleasant reminders of tests it was used to stage, tests meant to run a girl to her absolute limits. Those were not memories dearly treasured, and that many preferred to try and forget if possible.

Today, however, she had additional reason to find issue with her presence here.

A grunt of exertion filled the air.

Slipping back one light grey suit cuff, she inspected her watch, eyes drifting to the figure hanging from one of the wooden bars, sleeves of its navy skivvy top pushed up to reveal straining muscles. Wires dangled from under the dark blue fabric, running to where two technicians monitored their computer screen a short distance away.

"Need I remind you we're supposed to be joining Priscilla and Genco in half an hour?"

Another grunt, and Jethro Blacker dropped briefly, before beginning to haul himself skyward once more.

"You may need to – _grunt_ – go without me for a for a bit luv – _grunt_ - until we're done here." Monty nodded as her handler's eyes flicked toward the room's other besuited occupant. "I don't see you making the likes of Hilshire or Pagani do this."

In front of the bar, Ferro Milani looked up from her own notes at the sweating agent. "Hilshire was a walk-in, and Pagani was sent to us by the Prime Minister. You, on the other hand, were recruited from British intelligence."

"Not directly, you found me in a gaol cell."

"Yes, wearing a priest's cassock, but your previous intelligence experience was the reason we bothered, and so we expect you to maintain the same standards _here_ as you would have _there_."

"And here was me thinking all you wanted were my charm and good looks."

That earned him an unimpressed expression.

"Besides, the other handlers we can monitor day-to-day. You, however, are generally absent." The SWA's personnel manager glanced toward the two medical techs, one of whom held up a thumb. "We're done now here anyway..." her eyes flicked to Monty, "...he's all yours."

With that, Ferro turned away, striding toward the monitoring pair, notebook still under her arm as Jethro dismounted the bar, staggering slightly as the mat flexed beneath his weight. Righting himself, the former spy swung arms back and forward a few times, still breathing hard, before rolling up his shirt to start picking at electrodes stuck to sweating skin beneath.

Stepping forward, Monty began to unclip those wires attached to his back, before peeling off the sticky contacts they had been bound to. Collecting each in her hand, the girl walked again to her partner's front as he tore off the last sensor there as well, before setting his shirt neatly in place once more.

Holding out a palm, she gestured for him to hand them over. "Give me those, I'll find a bin on our way out."

"Thanks luv. Do I have time for a quick freshen up?"

Accepting the spent patches, the cyborg gave him an appraising look, and cocked an eyebrow. "Well, you're certainly not walking into the Spook Pit looking like that."

"Thought as much."

"Besides, I need my computer."

Outside the gym, clean, antiseptic neatness greeted the fratello, marking this a high-security area, one of those constructed as part of the Medical Block's refurbishment with the start of its SWA tenure. Cold fluorescent light reflected from white walls, bouncing off easily cleaned flooring to pick out rubber bump-rails and heavily reinforced doors... intended to hold back something far more powerful than the original architects could ever have envisaged. Finding the elevator quickly, Monty produced an ID card, touching it against the car's reader, before punching the button to take them back to Ground. It only made for a short ride but, when the doors opened again, the change was marked, white sterility replaced by lime green walls, light wood trimming nicked and scarred with age and chequered vinyl underfoot, out of fashion at least twice since it had been installed.

Low budget, obsolete, the facade of a facility being run on a shoestring.

Checking the hall into which they emerged from scuffed flooring to bare, concrete ceiling, the cyborg lead her partner right, making quick progress through the building's warren toward its front entrance. Pausing only to get scanned out at the manned security checkpoint, the pair stepped through double doors into golden sunlight.

Edging toward summer it may have been, but the full warmth of those months still represented a distant dream, and Monty watched as her still sweat-soaked handler shivered in suddenly cool late spring air. The halt was momentary however, and they were quickly moving again, down a short flight of steps and out across the Medical Block car park, toward a dark grey Audi estate parked tail-in amongst scattered vehicles.

Waiting for her partner to first unlock it, the girl settled into the passenger seat's comfortable leathery embrace as, beside her, Jethro brought the A4 Allroad's diesel engine churning to life.

Another shiver.

"Glad we didn't walk this time?"

"A little this time, yes."

Pulling the gear stick into 'D', her handler released the handbrake and edged their car out of its space, tyres rumbling on coarse, cracked, bitumen seal.

It was only brief trip back to the Agency's main cluster of buildings, barely worth the drive, unless one was lazy, or in a hurry, and so the journey passed in silence, Monty settling instead to watch campus grounds passing beyond her window. Familiar grounds, but not homely: a distraction and necessary evil to visit upon once every few months.

Beneath her the tyres' note changed, all-terrain, all-season Pirelli treads crunching onto gravel as her partner turned into the SWA's back car park: overflow for when the main courtyard was full, or a discreet option for those whose preference was to remain out of sight. Finding a secluded corner, Jethro backed them in beside a red BMW X6, giving the engine a moment to idle down before turning it off.

Door closing with a solid thud, the cyborg inspected her new and unfamiliar neighbour warily, before circling their own vehicle's snout to join her handler, eyes flicking over its shining paintwork and grille, before cocking a questioning eyebrow.

The spy followed her gaze. "Audi gave it a polish, and they sent it back clean as well."

"Good to know. Given what I've been reading, I'm becoming increasingly less enthused over returning here. We might get the next service done elsewhere... Germany perhaps."

Feeling the light touch of a hand between her shoulder blades, Monty began to make her way toward the Administration Block entrance, Jethro's voice floating from behind as she swiped in through the side entrance. "Well, you were with the quacks at the time, so at least we weren't out there looking like a fratello."

Inside, the SWA main building presented a marked change again from the two faced medical wing, by a good couple of centuries to boot. Here, worn terrazzo clicked beneath leather heels, wood panelling climbing centuries old stone walls which gave way to long, breezy colonnades, the courtyards they surrounded architectural relics of a time long past. The back park's downside, of course, was that it lay substantially farther from the staff accommodation than the main courtyard, and the complex's ancient layout only compounded that issue. The walk however was dispensed with quickly, and two sets of feet were shortly climbing stairs toward the handlers' rooms. Waiting for her partner to open his own door, Monty held out her hand again.

"Keys."

Those were dropped into her palm with a jingle. "Where did they put you this time?"

"Next floor up."

A pause, and Jethro's face took on a pensive expression. "So I can go to the pub in less fear?"

"I'm by the stairs." Her words were deadpan.

"That's a 'no' then."

Giving her partner an unimpressed look from behind heavily lidded eyes, the girl said nothing, instead leaving him to slip inside while she headed up another storey to halt at a door immediately by the last step. Pausing, the young spy glanced down to where wood framing met carpet and, seemingly content with what presented there, let herself in.

The room beyond was sparse at best, its furnishings an eclectic mix between cheap, government issue items and heavy, antique, hand-me-downs; fitting reflections perhaps of the SWA facilities as a whole. Starched white sheets on a cheap bed contrasted the solid wood desk and wardrobe, her cardboard and leather suitcase set neatly beside the latter, its orange corners and straps adding some colour to the space: a loaner space, one for visitors and infrequent guests.

Crossing the small area quickly, Monty retrieved a sleek Macbook Pro which had been residing on the desk and tucked it under one arm, before inspecting her reflection briefly in a frameless, full-height mirror leant against the opposite wall. Settling her knit tie more neatly into place, she headed once more for the exit.

The corridor outside remained clear and, giving the door a solid tug to ensure it was indeed locked, she paused to listen. Content the area remained hers alone, the slender cyborg knelt down, dropping her laptop for the moment and tweaking one short, auburn hair from her neatly styled bob cut. Breaking the strand again, she gave her fingers a lick to paste it neatly across the gap between door panel and frame.

It was a rudimentary sort of alert at best, but still better than nothing, and the young spy stood once more, giving her suit trousers a quick dust on the way up. Retrieving her computer, she trotted toward the stairs, listening again at the well's top. Now she _could_ hear voices approaching, still a little way below and, moving quietly back down to the next level, she slipped into her partner's room.

In stark contrast to her temporary billet, the space here was full to bursting. The same desk still resided beneath a tall window, with the same warm-bulbed work lamp set upon it, and the same full-height mirror leaning against bare bricks. The bed foot it stood beside however was of the queen variety, leaving even less gap than there might otherwise have been between it and the large steel compactus which squeezed everything else across the carpet, filled with detritus of jobs past.

From the bathroom she could hear sounds of splashing water and, ensuring this room too was securely locked, Monty settled herself onto the edge of her partner's bed to wait.

She didn't need to wait long, and soon the water cut off, Jethro's still dripping head emerging around the door frame, edge of a white towel swinging back and forward through the gap below, presumably held in place to preserve his modesty.

"I'll be out in a minute."

With that he disappeared again, and Monty placed her computer on the soft duvet, voice rising slightly to talk through the still-open door.

"So, tell me what I have missed... domestically."

The reply was quick coming, slightly muffled by the intervening wall. "Not sure, what do you know?"

"Ferro gave me the download since we last touched base whilst I was in hospital, but that's two days old now, and official. Genco visited also, but he's mostly been working on our own data anyway." Placing arms behind herself to lean back, the girl looked up, past hanging lights and steel ducting, to the ceiling high above. "Hilshire and Triela are still chasing Anasetti's trail, but very little progress has been made in tracking down who may have been photographed whilst flailing about Rome after him. Operations are finally starting to gather momentum once more, but only because attempts to retrain fratelli into more covert roles seem to have come to naught, so those instructing are now freed up to start doing field work again... and they've hired a new handler to try and help cover some the capability gap."

"Sounds about the gist of it." Now Jethro emerged from the bathroom fully, dry this time, but with the towel still in place around his waist, and Monty politely averted her eyes as he retrieved underwear from an open cell in the compactus. "Jean's still stuck being only able to send out fratelli with espionage experience under any modicum of safety, but he's been pairing them up to those without in the hope some will rub off - you can look again - which, reading between the lines, is wearing a little thin." Turning her head back, the girl found her partner with a crisp white shirt halfway off its hanger, the towel draped neatly across the back of his desk chair. "Jean suggested that we stay around a few extra weeks to try and ease the load somewhat."

"And?"

"I said no."

"Good."

"Same argument as last time: we're better off keeping a low profile when in-country, particularly with the Padania now apparently actively hunting for Agency pairs."

"I presume then he accepted that."

"He did. I suspect he was mostly making the suggestion so he could say he had." The shirt was on now, steel links holding the cuffs closed, and it was followed by a pair of slate grey suit trousers, cut to compliment a slim physique. "I'm sure he wouldn't be averse the extra warm bodies mind, but he's conceded the argument once before, and I'll give Croce-the-Elder this: he doesn't change track much."

"Well, let's hope this meeting with Genco and Priscilla can find us a reason to leave quickly all the same, ideally before anyone higher up realises we're here."

Trousers in place, it did not take long for Jethro to complete dressing: shoes, belt, tie and clip, watch. Reaching down to the table, he picked up a light shoulder holster, checking quickly the black SIG P230 riding there was loaded, before slipping the rig over his shirt, taking a moment to adjust its fit.

Finally shrugging on his jacket and doing up the middle button, the Englishman turned to his charge. "Presentable?"

Keeping her movements carefully methodical, the girl stood to cast an evaluating eye over her partner, before stepping forward to straighten his tie and brush a few specks of imagined dust from spotless shoulders. "Close enough."

"Glad I pass muster." Stepping forward, he bent down slightly to scoop up Monty's computer with one hand, placing the other lightly in the small of her back to usher her toward the door. "Let's not keep Priscilla waiting."

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><p>Officially, if somewhat less excitingly, designated Section Two: Basement Conference Room One, the 'Spook Pit' resided in a former wine cellar, one sadly long devoid of its intended stores. At some undefined point during the SWA's early history, one of its denizens had noted that, despite advances in modern technology, a few feet of solid earth and stone still made for some of the best anti-snooping measures going. As a result the room had become the preferred haunt of Section Two's small intelligence department, earning its nickname in the process.<p>

And the Agency had seemingly not been the first to reach that conclusion either.

Alighting from the end of worn stone steps, down the centre of which some health and safety type had unhelpfully painted a thick red line, Monty tapped out an organisation-wide all clear on the iron-studded door at their base, before punching a six-digit access code to the keypad and swiping herself in. Pushing against heavy timber, it swung slowly open, revealing the now familiar vista beyond, and the other reason for the room's nickname. Beyond low stone arches, the white shape of a long, Saarinen-esque table resided, two legs curving gracefully toward the floor, S-profiled swivelling chairs spaced neatly around the oval circumference; leftovers from some former tenant. Three large, spherical, stainless steel light fittings hung low over its surface, their warm glow cast only as far as the setting's edges, lending the darkened scene a distinctly conspiratorial air.

Letting his girl go first, Jethro followed her through, sealing the cellar behind him once more. Now closed in, he was able to get a better look at the four shadowy shapes clustered around the vintage illumination's extremity. Two faces fit right into his mental image of the space, the two others, not so much.

Ducking under one of the arches, the handler gave a friendly nod toward the two he did recognise, Genco Ribisi finishing arranging papers before returning the gesture.

"Apologies for our tardiness, Ferro had me tied up on the monkey bars."

Now the other known personality looked up at them, eyebrows raised slightly over an impish smile. "I'm not entirely certain how to correctly answer that." Pausing for a moment, Priscilla Meleori, the SWA's intelligence superintendent and chief analyst, glanced sideways at her still shuffling subordinate. "Not to worry, we're not quite ready here yet anyway."

While she talked, the former SIS agent turned his attention to their two newcomers, a male and female, the former broad shouldered and short in leg, though still clocking in around the same six feet as himself, longer torso covered by a light pink, two tone shirt and dark blue suit. The latter wore... not a lot actually and, as Priscilla finished her sentence, he turned toward them, laying a hand lightly on Monty's shoulder to shuffle her around as well.

_Another fratello pair then_.

Both parts of it too, which was unusual. Very few, if any, cyborgs ever attended 'adult' meetings, and if they were imitating his own fratello that would likely make them...

The man held out his hand, and the British handler took it as his opposite started to speak. "Florentino Vitale, formerly of AISE. You must be Jethro Blacker."

Feeling the other's grip build quickly to crushing levels, Jethro kept his own grasp firm, but no more, instead allowing the hint of an amused grin to wash across his otherwise friendly expression. "That's correct. Jethro Blacker, formerly, albeit very briefly, of the Roman Catholic Church..." he was rewarded with a slight flash of confusion in the other man's eyes and, using the waver to extract his hand, placed both palms on Monty's shoulders, "...and this is Monty. Pleasure to meet you."

In front of him, he felt movement as she proffered her own slender fingers. "Monty Blacker."

Another little flash of surprise as his partner's smooth, rounded, and proper tones were juxtaposed against a handshake he knew would be every bit as firm and businesslike as his own. Florentino recovered admirably however, the flash quickly disappearing.

"Yes, the infamous spyborg..." now he stepped back to bring the other attendee into view, "...this is mine, Odile."

Monty held out her palm again, and the taller girl opposite glanced quickly at her own handler before taking it, blond hair swaying. That bought him a few extra seconds to take in the rest of what was presented: a metallic gold, backless top looping around the nape of her neck and held proud of the rest of her body by large, not entirely naturally falling, breasts, before being caught again high on her waist by a wide, white belt, topping a black, patent leather mini-skirt. Open-strapped heels in similar tones brought her height up nearer her handler's eye level, toward whom she glanced again.

That gaze quickly snapped forward once more though as Jethro proffered his own hand, careful to keep eyes high. "Nice to meet you, Odile."

"Thank you, sir."

The grip which returned was weak, though she managed a smile, and it set another alarm bell ringing in the back of his head. Florentino, however, was talking again. "Chief Lorenzo has had me riding heard on some of the domestic types until Odile passes her _VdCO_, but eventually we'll be joining you on the international circuit."

"Is that so?" The tone emanating from just below shoulder level was neutral, that of polite query, but the handler hid an internal wince, pulling the speaker in a little more tightly as he did.

"Indeed, Pieri drew me specifically out of AISE for the role. We're here today to get some idea of where you're at, and what gaps we can fill intelligence wise internationally."

Jethro again kept his face impassive. "Well, I hope it's enlightening for you."

"So do I, I've been given your reports, but they've been heavily censored, and very little chance for discussion has been made available."

"We've been holding off having another sit-down on the international front until you two were back and Monty was out of hospital." Priscilla's voice, and the British handler looked toward her again.

"Thank you for that."

"It hardly makes sense to go over the same ground twice." Now, the normally cheery analyst's tone took on a harder edge. "Besides, _Florentino_, here, is still supposed to be concentrating on helping out with the domestic front."

"We won't be doing domestic labour forever though, so we need to be kept abreast of what's happening, and Odile could use the practice at knowing what to look for in the field and on paper."

"Speaking of domestic matters though, I presume you brought Hilshire's work?" The voice came from in front of him again, and Jethro could detect the first hints of impatience sidling into his partner's tone.

Genco however was looking up from where he stood, black topped glasses catching the light momentarily. "We did."

"That will make as good of a starting point as any then."

Twisting now from where she was held, the slender brunette strode quickly around the table, Odile quickly slotting in on her flank: not so close as to be a hindrance, but close enough to disallow anyone else prime position. Giving an internal sigh, the British handler followed after his girl.

_Frankly, things would be a lot easier, and much less tense, without the other fratello here... or at minimum without the other cyborg._

Sliding past the blonde, he pulled up behind Monty, leaning forward to place one hand on the table beside her so as to peer over a skinny shoulder. Before her were spread a series of A4 photo printouts, various documentation, a couple of pages run off from Google maps, among others. Unobtrusively studying one picture rested on the table, of a man in leather jacket in the middle of mounting a large touring bike, Jethro moved his spare hand again to his partner's shoulder, thumb beginning to massage idly at artificial flesh.

Genco was still talking, "This is everything Hilshire has put together so far though, frankly, I have not had much chance to go through it in detail."

"After Anasetti's pistol was linked to the Turkey weapons shipment, we started trying to track down anything else in that range of serials." Priscilla was talking now_._ "We're too under-resourced to throw the net particularly wide though, so I've had to pass them onto AISI, through secure channels of course, to keep an eye out for." At the mention of her data possibly going to a third party, Monty made an unimpressed sound, however the intelligence superintendent pressed on. "The shipment which came off _Anagnos Dragon_ was also captured intact: very similar to the Turkey load, just larger."

"Obviously for the ammunition and consumables there's not much doable, but I ran the _Dragon_ serial numbers against those we were already tracking from Turkey, to see if any matched or to try and further our scope." Pausing to bring his gaze fully on the petite girl beside him, Genco shrugged. "Keeping an eye out is about all we can manage at the moment. Like Priscilla said, the way things are here, we just don't have enough usable bodies to go actively searching."

"I take it you've already been asked to stay put for a bit?"

Standing straight again, Jethro nodded at the chief analyst's query. "Jean did ask, but we've plenty else to be getting on with."

"And besides, I'll have the domestic types up to speed soon enough." That was Florentino, who now looked down at his own cyborg. "Found anything useful there yet?"

Still beside Monty, bare back to her audience, Odile's head shifted from where she had been following the more experienced girl's movements, before flicking haphazardly through one of the open folders laying on the table.

"Umm, not really... sorry sir. Is there something in particular I should be looking at?"

"Not yet, I was _hoping_ those already out in the field might be able to give us some direction."

Catching the tone, Jethro chose to ignore it, and instead replied with a shrug. "I'm afraid we might be forced to disappoint you there. Today was going to mostly be about getting all cards on the table, and seeing if that might jog a thought for someone."

"Seems a waste to have field people in to do that, AISE used to get it all collated down before bringing us in."

"Unfortunately we don't have that luxury. The SWA is primarily domestic focused, so for our end we have to pitch in."

"We're flat out just covering domestic issues with what resources we have," piped up Priscilla.

"Even Genco's only started helping us with priority in the last, what, four months?"

Without looking up, the bespeckled junior nodded. "About that."

"And I'll probably need to split his time between both your fratelli eventually as well, at best."

"Long and the short is we do our own drudge work." Monty also didn't look up as she said it, and Jethro watched as Florentino's eyes swung toward her again.

"If that's the case, I don't know how much help we'll be to you. I've not been here very long, and Odile's never left the compound, so we can't compare notes against anything you're looking at. I was expecting actual information."

"Then make yourself useful and start reading, or at least stop interrupting so the rest of us can get on."

The other man's eyes shifted to Jethro, mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but the Englishman again just shrugged. From his girl's far side however, Odile's quiet voice wafted upwards, head swinging toward her handler, and back again to her more experienced sister.

"Umm, I don't think we're supposed to talk to handlers like that."

No response.

Seemingly devoid of anything further to say, Florentino pulled back one of the chairs, its heavy steel base scraping across stonework, before picking up a folder at random and sitting down to peruse its contents. For his part, Jethro leaned back in to rejoin the conversation between Monty, Genco and Priscilla, one eye on the man and his closer charge. Surely he would have to be keeping an ear in the conversation.

_Or, perhaps, he was leaving the observation to someone else._

Eyes flicking down, the former SIS man again caught sight of Odile, still seated where she could peer in on proceedings. Occasionally she would glance back toward her handler, but generally her attention was on the group's work... or, at least, it appeared to be. As minutes wore on however, she started to fidget, fingers flicking idly at papers before her, eyes glancing at one thing or another, before snapping back to where Monty was now poring over another set of figures with the fratello's man in Rome, one hand massaging absently at an upper arm as she thought. Eventually though, the watcher's eyes would start to glaze over, and the cycle would start again. It could all just be an act of course but, if he were not very much mistaken, Odile had not been activated particularly long at all, and probably not long enough to acquire any real acting capability... especially if she had yet to make an excursion off-campus.

More likely someone had instructed her to study what eventuated - he kept his own gaze locked firmly to what was under discussion on the table – though whether to acquire information, or simply for her own knowledge of the job, was unclear.

Another rustle of paper as the blond toyed with what lay before her.

Hopefully it was to learn the ropes, though given her own handler's apparent attitude to doing the drudge work, she might not...

The thud of a folder landing and scrape of metal on stone gave him an excuse to peer again at where Florentino had stood up, report the former AISE man had been reading now returned haphazardly amongst its brethren.

"Look, I don't think being here is doing us much good. If this is what Pieri expects his field agents to spend time doing, especially the international ones, then I'm going to need to have a talk with him about getting more resources. This sort of thing might have been acceptable before, but not anymore." Now he looked directly at the other handler. "Once you've a direction, give me call, but otherwise I need to keep getting Odile prepped for her _VdCO_." There was another scrape as he wiggled his chair in again. "Come on, Odile."

The blond cyborg was up quickly and, making a quiet, apologetic, goodbye, tottered along behind her handler to the door, which closed with a thud.

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

"And good riddance too."

Genco's voice was low, but the tone was enough to garner raised eyebrows from Jethro as he moved around to claim the seat vacated by Odile. "I take he's not made many friends?"

It was this time, however, Priscilla who answered. "Not really. By all accounts he's a competent enough field agent, but the attitude has not exactly been putting people onside... you have to feel sorry for his girl though, poor thing."

"Not acclimatising to the work?"

"Not really, and she's still too naive for us to safely help her out either."

Another scrape of a chair signalled Monty also rising from her place.

"Were those two left alone in here at all?"

Genco shook his head. "No, we all arrived together, and I booked the room."

Moving to where the Vitale fratello had been seated, she began running a hand across the underside of the table and chairs there. "Good, that makes things easier, though I'm not overly enthused about the prospect of their joining us again."

Jethro gave her a querying look. "You don't trust them?"

"No."

There was a brief pause, and it was Genco who spoke up to break it.

"Well, Lorenzo _has_ instructed us to give Florentino whatever support he needs... though I guess we _could_ call it a security issue, compartmentalisation..." he glanced at his superior, who nodded.

"I might be able to spin it like that, at least until Odile is experienced enough to have acquired some level of ingrained paranoia."

"...what it does mean though is I _will_ be covering both international fratelli," continued the junior analyst, "so I may not be able to help you two out as much as I have been."

At that, Jethro gave a wry grin. "Well, no offence, but we managed for two years without dedicated support. The help has been appreciated, but if we need to make do, we'll make do."

"I'll try not to get the both of you confused then."

Monty's seat scraped again across worn flagstones as she once more took her place. Wasting no time, she reached forward, plucking from the table a photo which had so far remained untouched.

"Who is this?"

Leaning over, the handler looked at what his girl was showing: a picture of a man, the same he had noted before, sitting astride the large touring bike, distinctive cylinder heads of a BMW boxer-twin engine now clearly visible, and nodded.

Priscilla, however, was also craning in. "That, we suspect at least, is Anasetti's recruiter. Victor took those photos outside the Port of Genoa just after the _Anagnos Dragon _raid. That man made an exit on foot once the fire fight finished and took off. Victor's been trying to hunt him down again ever since. Why?"

"I think we've met before," she held out the photo for closer inspection, "Skipper?"

"I think so." Examining the picture more finely for a second, he turned to address the two Agency analysts. "The printing press we were chasing after Alexandria, when we still had a chance of finding it, took us to Cyprus. This chap, I'm fairly certain, and I suspect it's what Monty is getting at as well, tailed us out of the Anagnos Shipping offices there. He's about the same build, similar jacket and similar bike." Now the handler selected another photo, this one a blow-up of that vehicle's side and, peering closer for a moment, held it out for the other three to see. "These scuff marks here, those could be from where he dropped it trying to follow us."

"If it really is the same man, he certainly gets around," Priscilla had another one of the pictures in her hands, and was making her own study of it as she talked, "and the Anagnos link is interesting. We only suspected he was Padania, a strong suspicion, but still only a suspicion. However we did run a backtrack from Anagnos properly as well and it does, eventually, lead to solid Padania interests. If he's working in more closely with them..."

"In that case though, if he does turn out to actually be Padania, why not just embed him with the shipping company? Why go to the effort of splitting him out?"

That was Genco, and Jethro shrugged before replying. "Could be any number of things: they want to maintain some separation, some deniability for both... or he _was_ embedded, but trying to separate himself while he knew we were there..."

"...or it was Anagnos under scrutiny, and we were just caught in the crossfire." Monty's tone was dry. "The Padania only own the company, the CEO and staff are not necessarily loyal to their cause... or he could be some as yet entirely unknown third party." She halted briefly, changing tacks. "How _is _Hilshire's investigation going anyway?"

"Slowly. Whoever this man is, he's no amateur and he's covering his tracks well."

"Perhaps if we had known about this a mite sooner, we could have helped expedite things." The words were unimpressed. "The Genoa raid was months ago, why did none of this make its way to us?"

Nothing.

Finally, Priscilla spoke up again. "The information was that tentative we didn't think it worth passing on just yet, not until there was more to go on."

"This is why I ask for everything. _ I'll_ sort out what I do or do not need."

As she finished the sentence, Jethro reached over to give his partner's knee a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry luv, I'm sure Priscilla's got the message." His eyes moved back to the woman, shooting her a brief, wry, smile. "It would probably be helpful then if we could drag Hilshire in to talk over where precisely he is at, and get anything which has not made it into the reports yet."

"I don't think he's on campus right now, he and Triela are deployed most of the time." Genco's tone was low.

"In that case, let's ensure to package up everything relevant from today, and we'll go through it with a fine-tooth comb. I'll give Hilshire a call once we get back to the office, and see if Jean would mind us borrowing him for a day or two." The Briton glanced at his watch, shuffling back a jacket cuff to expose its brown dial, nestled in a sharply angled case. "For now however, I suggest we make a start at running through whatever else is here. That should at least give us some idea if anything needs to be hit at the same time, and by then, frankly, I will probably want feeding."

* * *

><p>While the SWA was itself set amongst sprawling grounds, to very few parts of those were cyborgs actually afforded unfettered access, and those they <em>were<em> given free reign over tended not to be frequented by the Agency's adult population. Everyone however, staff and cyborg alike, needed to eat, and the cyborgs more so than most. As such, the campus refectory stood as one of its few truly common areas, long tables invariably occupied by one or two bodies, even outside regular meal service... which also made it one of Monty's _less_ favoured places to visit.

Finishing off a last bite of fettuccine, the cyborg placed the empty plate atop her partner's, returning to peruse a thick lever arch file open on the table. Around her, the room buzzed with conversation, its inhabitants continuing that strange dance inherent to all communal hubs, into which her handler had momentarily disappeared. At least she had managed to claim one of the smaller settings, wedged into a corner, where she could keep one watchful eye on the refectory in general and its entrance in particular.

Unfortunately, being able to spot trouble coming, and being able to avoid it, were two entirely different matters.

"Hi, Monty."

Uttering a resigned sigh beneath her breath, the young agent closed her folder and looked up.

"Petra. Kara."

The tone was not one deigned to encourage further conversation, but if the other girls noticed, they payed it no heed, and the Asian-featured Kara continued. "I didn't realise you were out of the hospital already."

"It was routine maintenance. I was discharged this morning."

Now Petra's gaze slipped briefly to her companion. "You've not seen Odile yet today have you, Kara? She was in her meeting."

Monty cocked an eyebrow. "_Odile _should be keeping her mouth shut about what happens in, and regarding her attendance to, those meetings... presuming she has aspirations toward maintaining that attendance."

Unperturbed, the Russian cyborg continued. "She was upset with you, Monty. Apparently you were rude to her handler."

The eyebrow stayed up.

For a second, nothing was said.

"If I was I certainly do not remember being so, and if I _were_ it would presumably have been related to his wasting my time and the planet's oxygen supply." The words were terse. "Don't you two have something better to do?"

Still standing, Kara shook her head, sending long, black hair swinging. "Not really. They finally scrapped the espionage re-streaming programme, so for the first time in months I've actually got a little free time again, rather than trying to help instruct that _and_ carry out operations."

"Re-stream?"

The Asian girl was just opening her mouth to answer when Monty felt two hands land on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

"The re-training attempts." Glancing up, she found her handler standing over her, as his own gaze turned to their two companions. "Michele was saying that, after Florentino came onboard, they decided bringing in new handlers would be a quicker and easier means by which to plug the paranoia gap, and to keep sending the older fratelli out with minders until they start abiding by Moscow Rules. Hello Kara, Petra."

"Hello Mr. Blacker."

"I see you've a new one in the dorms."

Kara nodded. "Yes, Odile. She's nice, a bit shy, but nice."

"Anyone would be shy, being thrown into that environment... I take it her handler's in and out a fair bit as well right now?"

That, however, got a shake of the head, along with a slightly more sour expression. "Not really. Odile is training a lot, but Mr. Vitale also has to go out with other fratelli. She hasn't passed her _VdCO_ yet, so she can't go with him, and normally he just sends whichever cyborg he was with to get her, or calls."

"That so..." Monty felt another squeeze on her shoulders, "...now, sorry to ruin your fun, but I need to take _this one_ with me, otherwise we'll not be getting any range time in."

Bidding their farewells, the two second generations departed, leaving the Blackers in peace. Letting them go, the remaining girl lifted her folder, tucking it under an arm while her partner collected dirty plates and cutlery. Pausing only to drop the latter off on a trolley left out for the purpose, the pair headed for the door.

Outside, and safely beyond earshot, Jethro spoke again. "Florentino certainly doesn't appear to be making many friends now does he?"

"Not really."

"Interesting that they billeted Odile in the cyborg dormitory though, might be the brass are intending to integrate her a little more closely into the domestic side than Vitale realises just yet."

"If so then they're welcome to her, though it could be the SWA is just being security conscious as well, I would not want Odile nearer anything particularly sensitive than absolutely necessary either."

Ahead, the door to the staff accommodation loomed, and conversation cut off again as the Blackers passed through, parting ways for their respective rooms. Reaching the upper floor, Monty checked her strand of hair was still in place and, content it indeed was, let herself inside.

Away from prying eyes, the young spy lifted her jacket, unshipping the pistol which had been concealed in the small of her back by British-tradition double venting and, ejecting the Walther PPK's slender magazine, began to unload it, pushing cartridges onto the desk with a thumb. Removing the final round, she retrieved a thin leather wallet from her luggage, before reinserting the now empty box and placing the pistol inside, set neatly next to the magazine's two brethren, beneath a long suppressor. Loose rounds were placed out of sight in a suit jacket pocket and, picking up her now stowed weapon, she headed again for the door.

Locking it and replacing the hair strand, the cyborg made for the stairs. Halfway down however, she found a familiar blue suit and pink shirt coming the other direction. Pausing in his climb, Florentino eyed her speculatively, seemingly drinking in what he saw, letting the moment hang, until a questioningly cocked eyebrow prompted an address.

"Monty, if you're heading back to the cyborg dorm, I need you to take a message for me."

The eyebrow stayed up. "Sorry, I'm not going anywhere near it today."

_Or ever, if possible._

That drew a slightly perplexed expression from the new handler. "Not at all today? I thought most cyborgs were not allowed in the handlers' accommodation without supervision."

"_Most_ aren't..." a new voice from behind, and she felt a strong arm slip across her chest, Jethro drawing her backwards "...Monty, however, is billeted here when we're on campus. It's more convenient to me, and to the offices."

"I didn't hear anything about that."

"And you probably won't, it's a convenience that has been perpetuated because it makes sense to do so, rather than anything officially recognised."

Now Florentino's eyes were drawn to the slim wallet the girl carried, then to a similar one in the hands of her partner, along with the small box of 7.65mm ammunition clasped beside it. "I take it you two were headed for the range?"

The British handler nodded. "Indoor, yes."

There was another pause, but eventually the SWA's newest addition seemed to come to a decision. "I'm about to head that direction myself. If you don't mind stopping at the cyborg dorm on the way, I could give you a lift."

"I think we'll walk."

Monty felt her partner's grasp get a little tighter as she said it, before continuing for her. "We appreciate the offer, but it's a pleasant sort of evening, and I prefer to walk the campus whenever possible: we spend too much time sitting down as is."

"Suit yourselves, I'll probably see you there anyway."

With that, Florentino moved past, headed up the stair well, and the Blackers continued their escape. Reaching the building exit, Jethro pushed it open, before ushering his girl out into chill evening air and handing over the box of ammunition so she could return her extracted rounds to it.

"Now there's a brush I could do without being similarly tarred by."

The pair walked another few steps in silence, before Monty spoke up again. "Did Jean get back to you regards borrowing Hilshire?"

"He did. Victor will be back the day after tomorrow, and we can drag him in then."

"That's about what he said on the phone too, so hopefully we shall avoid any clashes."

"I doubt there will be any... I think he'll be glad of the opportunity to rest Triela for a few days. It sounds like they've been busy since we were last in Rome."

The SWA's indoor range and armoury lay a reasonable distance from the main complex, far enough that, like the Medical Block, it became an easy choice for most whether to walk or drive, that equation generally coming down on the side of speed and convenience. The cool evening however made for a pleasant stroll, and the pair spent their remaining journey in comfortable silence, the crunch of leather soles on gravel serving to accompany them as twilight finally gave way to inky darkness across the landscape. Ahead, warm light could be seen flooding steps down to the half-sunken bunker's entrance and, as they drew closer, it became also apparent that despite the late hour, they would not be the only ones on the range.

A worn looking Peugeot 306 was probably property of the duty clerk, but the other two vehicles had to belong to handlers. One, a black Lexus hatchback, was recognisable as transport for Danilo Olivetti and, parked tail-in to dwarf the little hybrid, towered the red X6 spied earlier.

Beside her, Jethro nodded to the latter. "Either Pagani's suffered a taste malfunction, or they've upped the vehicle allowance without telling me."

Passing the big BMW, Monty led down to a heavy steel door, pushing through into the range's foyer. Up on the wall a television set muttered away, football match commentary echoing from hard concrete, stymieing muffled gunshots emanating from behind the closed range entrance. Coat hooks beneath it remained bare in the finer weather but, at the clerk's window opposite, two figures were already standing.

_That confirmed any suspicion regards the new vehicle's ownership then._

At the sound of the door, Odile's head snapped around, plastic pistol case in one hand swaying with the movement. Saying something to her handler, she tottered toward the new arrivals, seemingly still a little unsteady under the combination of tall heels and tight skirt, the same low cut halter she had worn before somewhat gamely still in place.

"Hello Mr. Blacker, Monty."

Stifling an internal sigh, the senior girl followed her handler's lead, returning the greeting. "Good evening, Odile."

"Sorry we couldn't keep helping at the meeting today, but Florentino wanted to keep working toward my _VdCO_."

It took a moment to assemble an appropriate response for the plump-lipped, innocent, and guileless face peering earnestly back at her.

"There probably wasn't much point in your being there, we were only comparing notes with Genco and Priscilla."

"Oh, okay... Florentino said he thought you were holding back on us."

That got a raised eyebrow, and Monty felt her handler put an arm around her shoulders, giving one a warning squeeze.

_No, this wasn't a girl she _ever _wanted knowing the same secrets she did._

"Strangely enough, working from first principals tends not to throw up information immediately."

"Florentino said that we shouldn't need to, work from first principals I mean, that _proper_ field agents should be spending their time in the field."

"And we should be..." the former AISE man was now approaching from behind his charge, boxes of 9mm ammunition in one hand, shooting glasses and a set of ear protectors in the other, "...you'll have to excuse Odile, she's yet to learn what should and should not be talked about."

The girl's features froze at those words, slowly turning red and melting into an expression of embarrassed chastisement, as her handler stopped behind her.

"That said, I _do_ want to keep getting her prepped for her _VdCO_. We've been active almost two months now, so I would like her passed out in the next few weeks."

Apparently looking to change the subject, Jethro spoke up again. "That your X6 outside, Florentino?"

"You like it?"

"I think they must have upped the car allowance while I wasn't looking."

Now the other handler gave a self-satisfied grin. "No, they haven't, it's part of the package the SWA offered to get me across from AISE: greater car allowance, bigger pay check..." he dropped a hand on Odile's head, "...more input into how my cyborg would be put together."

Stifling an internal groan, Monty lifted her partner's hand from her shoulder with careful, delicate fingers, placing it deliberately by his side before passing over her pistol and box of rounds. "You two have a fun chatting, I'll go and draw ammunition."

Leaving Jethro to his fate, the girl moved quickly toward the range clerk's window and, from behind, she heard Florentino say something else, then unsteady heels following, Odile arriving just as the man looked across his counter.

"Come back to join us for a bit have you, Ms. Blacker?"

"It would appear that way. I'll need three hundred rounds of 7.65mm Browning... ear protectors, glasses and targets."

"Right you are." Selecting a form from its pigeon hole, the clerk pushed it and a pen across the counter, before standing up. "Complete that and I'll find the rest for you."

Lifting the pen, Monty started to fill out poorly photocopied pages with her handler's details, doing her best to ignore the fidgeting blonde stood to one side. Finally, Odile spoke, leaning down to bring their heads level, her voice quiet.

"Actually, I... had a question for you."

_She wasn't going to get out of this was she?_

"Mmm?"

"The _VdCO_, is it difficult? The other girls say it is nothing to worry about but they're... not like _us,_ are they?"

"Define 'like us'."

The tone was caustic, and at it, the buxom cyborg glanced away briefly. "You know, _special_. Florentino says we're special, weaker, but better for working a long way away. Florentino says we're meant to do that, but does being weaker make the _VdCO_ harder?"

The _VdCO_, _Verifica della Competenza Operativa, _or Verification of Operational Competency, was the assessment every cyborg, from the start of the second generation onward, had found herself subjected to in order to prove to the bureaucrats she could be safely allowed off campus and into the wild.

Well, all second generations except for...

"I wouldn't know, I never did it."

That was met with a moment of silence.

"You didn't?"

"No."

"Why?"

The clerk had returned by now and, p.p.-ing her own signature onto the bottom of the form, Monty handed it back, before accepting the small boxes of ammunition, protective equipment and paper targets.

"Thank you." Turning away from the window, the young agent aimed herself back at where both handlers were still talking, catching Odile along the way. "To answer your question: it was not considered relevant."

"But _I _still have to do it. If it wasn't considered relevant for you, then why would it be considered relevant to _me_?"

"No idea. Maybe the higher-ups are not in enough of a rush to waive the bureaucracy anymore..." she let some irritation edge into her words, "...or maybe they're feeling an overpowering need to tighten quality control this time through."

Arriving back at their two handlers, Monty passed over half of what she had acquired to Jethro, receiving her own gun and old box of ammunition in return.

"Are you going to chat all night? Or shall we make a move?"

Silence for a moment, before her partner answered. "Personally, I would like to be in bed at some reasonable hour, and I'm sure the clerk here wants to go home eventually." He motioned to the range entrance. "Lay on Macduff."

Allowing Florentino and Odile first passage, the Blackers followed them through, previously muffled gunshots becoming loud cracks as the door was opened, dulled immediately again by donned hearing protection. Waiting to see which direction the newest fratello went, Monty headed the other, taking a position between them and the Olivetti pair, stationed at the firing line's farthest extremity, though still visible through thick Perspex dividers.

Unzipping the leather wallet, she extracted her PPK, before checking the manufacture date on each fifty round lot of ammunition. Selecting the newest, she placed it and the wallet on a wooden bench which ran along the back wall then, opening the still untouched box she had carried since their last visit to Rome, began filling her magazines.

Peering left, beyond where her partner was also setting up, she spied the heavy-set form of Raych, seemingly waiting for Danilo to finish loading magazines for her. As she watched, the other cyborg glanced her direction, gaze returning quickly downrange as she met her observer's eyes. Behind, the larger girl's handler passed forward his handiwork, setting his charge up for another drill.

Pushing the final round home into the last of her small mags, Monty picked up a target, clipping it to the rail above and ran it out to ten metres then, checking safety glasses remained firmly in place, inserted a magazine into her pistol and racked the slide to chamber its first round. Sweeping the safety with her thumb to ensure it was off, the young agent took careful aim at the paper's centre of mass, waiting for it to stop waving. From here it should be an easy affair to hit and, taking a breath, she opened fire, sending shots methodically down range to chew out a small hole in the sheet's exact centre.

Content with that performance, she dropped the spent magazine free, replacing it with a fresh one, before running her target out the full twenty-five metres this gallery would allow.

From up the line, more reports started, and she glanced the other direction to where Odile was standing, face on to the far backstop, a PX4 Sub Compact levelled at her own twenty-five metre objective. Behind her stood Florentino, arms folded, a pair of binoculars in his hands, which were now raised to inspect his charge's work. Shifting her own gaze to the target, Monty found she had just enough angle on the paper that sharp vision would let her watch as the new cyborg placed a small, neat, group in its centre.

_Well, at least she was good for something then._

Taking aim once more at her own mark, Monty set about replicating the feat.

* * *

><p>"Thanks for taking the time to sit down with us, Victor. It's appreciated." Jethro's gaze wandered over those once again assembled in the Spook Pit. "I shouldn't need to say this, but it's worth re-iterating, all things considered: what gets said here doesn't go beyond the five sets of ears present. Anyone with more than two brain cells available to rub together will probably work out what's being discussed, but there's no need to help any eavesdroppers further. If you need anything from our end later, talk directly to Genco or Priscilla... ideally to Priss from here on in as she's another step removed."<p>

Focus drifting from her partner, Monty leaned forward slightly to regard the German handler, seated another place down. He looked tired, naturally gaunt features given extra definition by the cellar's low lighting, overall effect making him appear more drawn than he would already have been...

...or, perhaps, it was less a trick of the light, and more to do with the unrelenting pace he had been required to maintain since Massimiliano Anasetti finished shooting up Rome. Whichever it was, the effect was made only more stark by its juxtaposition against Priscilla's rounded, still girlish features, sat next to Genco in the places opposite.

Now, however, the gaunt expression broke into a brief, albeit dry, smile as he nodded his accord. "No, thank you, it will be nice to have some help chasing Anasetti's trail."

"It would be rather nice to clear up a loose end or two for our part as well," put in Monty.

_And, perhaps, even start making some headway again elsewhere to boot._

Hilshire's gaze now rested on the cyborg. "I can tell you what we have found so far, but the investigation is moving a lot slower than I would like, slower than anyone would like." That brought another dark shadow across the man's face, but it disappeared just as quickly. "Is there some place in particular you would like me to begin?"

Looking over the top of her laptop, she cast a speculative eye across inherited mid-century furniture, its surface once again littered with folders, documents and photographs, though this time carefully curated to remove anything not directly linked to the current discussion. Only two intelligence department representatives had been made party to the meeting as well, Priscilla and Genco, those already familiar with the Blackers' work, but no-one who may have been assisting with Hilshire's case.

Beside her, Jethro spoke up. "Have you had any luck narrowing a name down?"

The German shrugged. "We have found several..."

Bringing up the list, Monty turned her computer so that her partner could read the screen.

"...though apparently the one he contacted Anasetti under was 'Vito Genovese'. For the sake of simplicity it's the name we have been using up until now."

Across the table, Genco's brow furrowed at those words, and she cocked an eyebrow as the junior analyst quickly typed something into his mobile phone, before mouthing a curse and turning to his laptop, physically hooked into part of the SWA network, instead.

"I'm happy to continue with that," Jethro again, the hint of a wry grin cracking his features, "how about you take us from the top, and we'll decide what could use expanding upon as you go."

Hilshire nodded but, before he could start to talk, Genco spun his own computer around for the gathering to see.

"I thought so..." suddenly realising the table's attention was his, the young man paused, swallowing, "... I thought the name sounded familiar. 'Vito Genovese' was an American/Italian mobster."

Eyes turned to Hilshire, who shrugged again. "We have not been able to make contact directly, though those who have talked to him say his Italian sounded native, or very close to."

Monty looked at her handler, putting on her best sceptic's tone. "Could be a coincidence, or a feint."

"Could not be as well," the handler now turned back to Genco, "after this, do you want to quietly run the rest of the names Hilshire has?"

The analyst nodded, and Monty made a mental note to do the check herself should time allow, a second document to compare against never hurt. The trick, of course, would be letting Hilshire in on whatever information fell out, and keeping him party to any further developments, without whomever from the analysis team was _currently _handling his case catching on.

"You think he might be American?"

Priscilla's query brought her back to the conversation, but it was Jethro who answered. "It's a possibility."

"He is certainly very good at covering his tracks. A lot of the time we barely get more than two steps down a trail before losing him completely again..." now Hilshire looked across at the Blackers, "...I do not know what reason the Americans might have to join in with the Five Republics, though."

"I can think of a few." Monty's tone was dark.

She could too, none of which made for particularly beguiling propositions and, under the table, Jethro gave her knee a reassuring squeeze.

"Monty's right, there are plenty of reasons the US, or anyone else for that matter, might want a conduit into Italy. By the same token, it could be entirely possible 'Vito' here is from the industrial espionage side of things... a mercenary rather than government agent. It would be easy enough for the Padania to hire in someone like that to help them, and the Americans have some of the stiffest corporate competition around."

"It would help explain... or be explained by, I guess... their recent change in focus as well," put in Genco. "The Padania's, I mean."

"It might, but don't lose sight of the fact that this is still all speculation, so chase it for now, but with a grain of salt... continue, Victor."

Reaching forward, Hilshire sipped from a tall glass of water. "As I said: we have been struggling to track Vito more than a step or two down any one line of approach. We did _some _talking, mostly to Anasetti's peers, before the Genoa raid..."

"Did he talk to any of them directly?" Interjected Monty.

"No, but at least it let us know what to look out for. The photos helped after that, and we were able to work through people and businesses relating to the raided shipment: so the trucking company, port authority, freight forwarders..."

"Hermes?"

Hilshire nodded. "Yes."

"They're an Anagnos subsidiary."

The former Europol detective nodded again. "I was made aware of that, and followed it further from one link to another. A few people remembered speaking to Vito first hand, but those were mostly receptionists or juniors greeting him and exchanging small talk. Anyone who may have known more was not going to tell me."

"On that note..." Priscilla again, looking across at the Blackers, "... Genco was able to use that information to help firm up the links you had made originally, right up to _Marittima Italiana_."

"Nice to know."

Hilshire continued. "Plotting the points where he did make contact puts him all over Italy, and farther. We checked his bike once we had photos of it, Italian and European databases. He is smart enough to change the number plates, so it was not so straight forward, but the plates we know of have been flagged making border crossings as far afield as Ukraine, Croatia, Cyprus, Norway, and others. So far though, no clear pattern has emerged, but he most frequently seems to head for France or Austria. We also have a speeding ticket he was issued in Paris."

Now Priscilla spoke up once more. "We presume he must fly too: no-one wants to spend two days on a bike for a single meeting."

"It would make sense for him to fly but, if he does, it has not been under any of the names we have for him so far," the German looked back toward Jethro and Monty, "I would like to go through any security camera footage from the places we know he has gone, to try and build up a clearer picture of when he may have visited, how often, and what for, but the resources have not been available to do it..."

A brief pause.

"...That is the broad outline of where we are at."

Monty looked back to where she had been taking notes on her computer screen. It was a very blank page which sat before her. Hopefully it could be fleshed out a bit as they got down into the details. Right now though, if she were to take a guess at their likely next move... there was really only one option where things had been narrowed down enough to target something smaller than an entire country.

As if reading her thoughts, Jethro spoke up.

"In that case, I say we spend the coming day or so..." a glance at Hilshire, who nodded accession, "...going through what's here, and anything else Victor has, with a fine tooth comb, to see if more matches up..."

Another pause.

"...however, my gut feel right now is we will be picking up our end of the job in Paris."


	3. CH02 The French Connection

**SIX DEGREES**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

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><p><strong>Chapter 02|The French Connection<strong>

Paris, centre for culture and the arts, home to some of the world's greatest museums and galleries, setting already for a thousand tales and stories for the masses. Taking a sip of coffee, Jethro placed his cup back on one of the small, ovoid pedestals which, as a group, were seemingly intended to serve this suite's occupants in lieu of an actual table.

_Hopefully, he would not be joining those tales._

Twisting back to one of the piece's larger, taller, siblings, the handler picked up two plastic cards rested on its surface, shuffling them to inspect a print of his own face under bright sunlight, diffused through gossamer curtains separating the suite and its rooftop terrace beyond. From the street far below wafted chattering voices, punctuated by a scooter's sharp cry, carried in on a light breeze as Paris's bustling Latin Quarter went about its morning business.

Closer however, his partner's tones layered themselves over neighbourhood ambience while she talked outside, phone in one hand, slender shape silhouetted against a clear sky. Now the girl turned again, words resolving into something recognisable as she pushed through white waterfalls of insubstantial fabric, her dress's bold primary colours adding a flash of life against the room's cool hues.

"_Oui, merci Mathilde, nous serons là bientôt."_ She paused, listening to the other speaker. _"Ehh... appelez cela une heure? Fantastique. Au Revoir."_

Dropping the mobile from her ear, Monty hung up, before turning to her handler. "Change of plans. That was Europol's liaison over at Police Headquarters, seemingly they tracked down the officer who issued Vito's ticket faster than expected. She can hold him at _Île de la Cité_ for the morning if we wish to interview him today."

"I presume you said 'yes'?"

"I did..." now, the girl looked down at her Mondrian dress, "...though a change of clothes first may not go astray."

Maintaining a hold on both IDs, Jethro followed the few steps to their bedroom, arriving at its door just as his partner sat down on the mattress, soft duvet crumpling as she began to strip off white, knee-high boots. Taking another pace over, he placed one card at her side.

"You will probably be wanting that then."

Pausing, his charge picked up the SWA provided Europol identification pass, inspecting it closely.

"Design's changed since Alexandria."

The handler nodded. "It has, though I suspect ours were out of date even then... and these are probably backed up better than what I could bodge together on the fly."

Placing the card into a thin leather wallet, his girl returned to her task. "Probably a good thing, I suspect the Paris police are going to be quizzing those a mite harder than the Egyptians did. There's only so much we were going learn rummaging through Nick and Shamus's personal effects..." divested now of her other boot she stood, turning her back to him, "...and only so far they could be held responsible for the contents of their own evidence locker... Unzip me?"

Stepping forward to oblige, Jethro found the YSL garment's small fastener, sliding it quickly from the nape of his partner's neck to the small of her back, before bringing hands up once more to gently help expensive fabric forward off slender shoulders, and within her easier reach. Waiting a moment until he felt Monty start to lift that away, the handler retrieved a tie, before retreating politely out the door.

Finding one of the lounge mirror's larger panes, he set about fixing it into a full windsor, before continuing the conversation. "Bodge or not, they worked enough to set us on Nick's forged Franklins."

"Yes, and has not _that_ turned into a fine comedy."

Pulling the knot tight and sliding it up neatly against his collar, the handler moved back to lean against the bedroom door frame. "Well, we can't be travelling too badly if Lorenzo feels he should expand the SWA's international reach."

Setting her second cuff link in place, Monty cocked an eyebrow at him. "If_ that's _the result of doing a good job, remind me to stop making an effort."

"In which case they would probably just bundle up the whole shooting match back to AISE."

"Which might be the lesser evil, _AISE_ at least have fewer avenues to accidentally blow _our _cover by." Pulling on suit bottoms to tuck her shirt into, his girl set about fixing her own tie. "Fiasco or no, it would be nice to start making some headway on Monaco's fallout again. I don't like loose ends, particularly when they're hanging from a corpse or two."

"It certainly would be nice to know how Nick's funny money found its way into his wallet... and I'm starting to wonder if our 'Vito' might have some light to shed on that particular subject."

"You think he might have been the one set us up in Monte Carlo?"

"It's a possibility, certainly if he _is_ actually Padania, and even if he's from Langley..."

Settling a shoulder holster into position, the cyborg placed her PPK in it, before giving her partner a dry look. "Forging their own currency for that variety of operation sounds just a little _too_ cute, even for the CIA."

"Maybe that is over thinking it."

"Or not, it doesn't take much for someone to decide they're being clever." Gun in place, Monty shrugged on her jacket, closing it at the top button, before running an evaluating eye over her partner. "Shall we make a move?"

Nodding, Jethro slipped around beside his girl, placing a hand in the small of her back to usher her toward the door, making their room fast as they went. Farther up the hall could be seen a housekeeper's trolley, currently unattended, and the pair instead turned toward stairs which would deliver them to ground level, past comfortably appointed landings serving double duty as communal space, subtle 30's style portraits hung in their midst.

Seven storeys, six carefully curated arrangements, and they were soon striding past the lobby desk's glowing form to be deposited onto a narrow footpath edging an even narrower street, car-lined flanks separated by just enough to squeeze another vehicle between. To their left, framed by tall buildings at the lane's end, stood the Odéon Theatre, neoclassical pillars now dwarfed by surrounding apartments, still standing guard for the Luxembourg Palace beyond. That however would need to be an adventure for another day and, turning from its sun-bathed plaza, the Blackers instead headed north, diving into bustling streets toward the River Seine's distant banks.

The Latin Quarter, that most bohemian part of Paris and, with time to kill, the pair made full use of its welcoming maze of narrow alleys. Meandering between tiny book shops and cafes, their tables spilling out onto the street, it made for a perfect environment to spot, or loose, any potential tail, putting distance on their hotel in the process. Slowly though that path started to swing north again, crossing the wide expanse of Boulevard Saint-Germain to join Rue Dauphine on its arrow-straight course toward the water-flanked Île de la Cité.

Strolling over white, balustraded arches of Pont Neuf, they crossed the island's skinny western tip, before proceeding along its northern shore beneath high stone walls of the Palais de Justice, Monty's eyes scanning far banks, dotted by cars and tiny market stalls. Reaching the building's end however, the fratello cut back along its landward face, past high gates until, seen through trees and over intervening rooftops, loomed the famous spires of Notre Dame Cathedral.

Though not their intended destination, the ancient church made a fine tourist attraction, drawing a holidaying throng its way which the pair melted into to turn down a wide pedestrian boulevard, passing along the grey edifice of Paris Police Headquarters. Halfway down its length, the Blackers broke off from that foreign tide, instead sliding toward an entrance under the shadow of a hanging Tricolour.

_Entr__é__e des Professionnels._

Noting the sign, Monty took another half pace ahead of her handler to stand by an iron gate, set just behind wooden framing, and looked toward the guard stationed inside. Returning that gaze, hand moving subtly toward a hip-mounted pistol, he twisted her direction.

"_Bonjour, je peux vous aider?"_

Despite the wary stance, his tone was friendly and helpful.

"_Oui,"_ dropping into French, the cyborg continued, "George Zusak and Adeline Theroux of Europol, _Lieutenant Intern_ Quesnell should be expecting us."

Holding a hand out through black bars, the man waited patiently while she paired Jethro's ID with her own to pass them over for inspection. Grasping a phone from the wall behind, he took a moment to study both cards more closely until whomever was on the other end finally picked up.

"Hello, Mathilde?" His eyes did not stray from the waiting fratello. "It's Jacques, I have an Adeline Theroux and George Zusak from Europol here to see you... yes... ok, I'll let them in."

Hanging the handset up, the guard placed his own ID against an RF reader, which was answered by the heavy, metallic clack of latches retracting. Hefting the gate open, he beckoned the Blackers inside.

"_Lieutenant Intern_ Quesnell will be down shortly, you can wait in here until then."

Stepping through, Monty accepted their cards back, returning her handler's as the gate clacked shut. Ahead lay a short corridor, and she moved with her partner deeper into the room presented beyond, away from light streaming in through its entrance. At his post, the guard went back to staring at the wall opposite, and she instead turned her attention to the building's interior: not all that different from the SWA, a modern organisation shoehorned into veteran architecture. In this case however, that modernisation had seemingly wended through ancient stone like a creeping growth, snaking under arches and rafters, some rudimentary effort made with paint and plaster to hide the changes, rather than put them neatly on display for all to see.

Next to her, she felt her handler lean down, talking quietly under the watchful eye of a second guard manning the space's security desk. "Do you know if this Mathilde has pulled any camera data together yet?"

"I requested she do."

The room lapsed into silence again, sounds of the city outside wafting in along stone walls. From beyond the desk however came a tapping of shoes on marble, and shortly a figure appeared wearing blues of French Police uniform, approaching rapidly down the far corridor. Pausing briefly to say something to the seated guard, it halted in front of the Blackers, holding out a hand.

"Mathilde Quesnell, you must be Adeline and George."

Grasping the proffered paw, Monty nodded. "That is us, thank you for taking the time to help out."

Giving her handler a chance to make his own greeting, the young agent took a moment to study their host. Mathilde was small, probably only an inch or so taller than herself, but with a compact, more athletic build, blonde hair done up into a low maintenance bun. Beneath it, smiling eyes gave an air of amiable competence.

_Or at least of amiability._

Now however, she was beckoning her charges across to the desk. "If you could give me your IDs again, we will need to run them properly before going any further."

Offering up both cards once more, Monty kept her expression carefully bland as they were passed on to the second guard: time to see if the Agency issued items, and their accompanying computer groundwork, were as good as she had been assured they would be. Maintaining unhurried movements, the girl turned back to where their Europol liaison was talking again.

"You look younger than I pictured on the phone, probably only a year or two behind me. I'm surprised I've not seen you before."

"This isn't our usual area of operations."

"Which is another reason I am surprised: you're very young for a field agent. Normally you should be tied to one area, one department first... maybe even here, your French is certainly very good," her eyes flicked to where Jethro was standing, "_yours_ is good also, for an Englishman, but Adeline speaks like a Parisian native."

"Which is why _she_ is doing the talking."

"I grew up in Paris for a time," volunteered Monty, "not long, but enough to acquire the accent."

"Really? I grew up around the 18th arrondissement."

"I was further south, around Montparnasse."

It was a vague reply, deliberately so, upon which Mathilde could build her own assumptions or, hopefully, finish the line of questioning off entirely. Unfortunately that seemed not to be, and the other woman was starting to open her mouth again when Jethro spoke up.

"So how does a girl form Montmartre wind up shepherding Europol agents around?"

The question was answered by a pause, then a particularly Gallic shrug, the blonde seemingly searching for a good response. His interruption however bought time enough and, handing their cards back, the desk guard gave a nod.

"All good, if you could come with me?" Waving for her guests to follow, the Europol liaison lead them out through the room's other exit.

Taking a moment to ensure she retained the correct ID, Monty slipped it back into a breast pocket. Seemingly the SWA's technology department _could_ get something right from time-to-time, though pushing her luck more than once was a less than enthralling prospect.

Ahead, Mathilde was still talking. "Brigadier Lefebvre is waiting in one of the interview rooms..."

"Did you get a chance to pull together any tracking for the motorbike?"

"We did."

"In which case monsieur Lefebvre can wait another ten minutes, I would like to quickly review what's there first." Glancing back, Monty cocked a querying eyebrow at her handler, receiving a nod in return. "Should there be anything needing further investigation it would be better we know now, rather than have to pull your man in again later."

"Uhh... of course, you may as well come to my office then."

Changing heading down a separate turn, the Lieutenant Intern led her charges along aged corridors, drawing interested glances from those they passed... well, from _some_ they passed. Others kept eyes resolutely forward, old, paranoid, or cynical enough to see suited agents trailing behind their Europol representative as trouble. Trouble they did not want to attract to themselves if at all possible.

Eventually however, Mathilde brought them to an open door, which the pair's younger half eyed distastefully, ushering the fratello through into a small office beyond. Above, a fluorescent tube cast cooler, brighter tones than the 50's vintage fittings outside, illuminating two L-shaped desks set back to back, both currently unoccupied, a third chair crammed into one corner, presumably for guests. Making her way to sit at the tidier station, their minder re-logged into her computer as, behind, Monty heard Jethro close them in. The other woman looked up at that, but didn't say anything, instead twisting her monitor around to face along the desk, revealing an open folder.

"I know I sent you a copy of the ticket Lefebvre issued, and his court record, but I have included both again just in case." She pointed to the monitor. "All the camera footage and stills we found are here. I didn't expect to be seeing you so soon, so I've not had a chance to sort any of it, but I did make a dump of the list our number plate recognition software gave back, so there is something to go on."

Double clicking to open a spreadsheet, she shuffled around so her guest could move in for a closer look, before leaning in to jab at the screen. "The far left column is footage reference numbers, which will correspond to each file, then there is date, time, camera reference number and location... do you want to drive?"

Nodding, Monty moved in front of the monitor as she heard her handler roll the spare chair over, placing a palm on one shoulder to guide her down into it under the curious gaze of their warden.

Making a show of opening Lefebvre's ticket to read date and time from it, Monty compared those back against the spreadsheet, before scrolling down to locate its corresponding file. Perhaps unsurprisingly that was the largest present and, opening it also, the girl found herself presented with a grainy, black and white image of a wide boulevard, made distant by unmistakable oversize footpaths of the Champs Elysees.

"The software cuts each clip a few seconds either side..."

Now on the monitor a large BMW touring bike pulled into the gutter, its rider resting back to remove full-face helmet as he was joined by a Peugeot hatchback, the latter positioning itself in the path of any oncoming traffic, roof lights flashing brilliant white. Unfortunately however as its occupant, presumably Lefebvre, exited his car, it became clear he was going to stand on the road side, leaving their camera with a frustrating view of the back of the motorcyclist's skull.

As the two on screen talked, drawing attention from a few passing tourists, Jethro's voice wafted in behind her. "You don't have another angle on this?"

"I'm afraid not, not that has been found yet."

"Pity."

Letting footage play out, Monty watched both vehicles disappear from view once more, before returning her attention to the spreadsheet, scanning for anything else of immediate interest. Seemingly most of what had been dredged up came from Paris, with a smattering of other towns and linking motorways.

"I presume you have a copy of this for me?"

Rolling back toward the computer, their host shook her head. "Not yet, I was going to get it for you after the interview."

"Do it now, seeing as we're here."

Standing, Monty returned her chair to its original position so Mathilde could access the keyboard once more and, moving to the room's other side, the cyborg watched while she extracted a fresh USB drive from its packaging, Jethro leaning down to speak softly in one ear.

"So? What did you think?"

"I think there's going to be a certain amount of work involved sorting through that lot, and probably some maps of Paris and France to make heads or tails of it."

"My thoughts too. It probably wouldn't hurt to check each video as we go if she's only run recognition software, for all we know Vito's stolen those plates from someone else."

That drew a noise of dry agreement. "They're likely not his only set either."

"Nothing we can do right now about that unfortunately, and we've probably some time up our sleeve before anything comes in from down south."

The room lapsed into silence again until, eventually, their liaison extracted the USB drive, bundling it up to hand over to Monty. "That should be everything, shall I take you to Lefebvre now? We probably shouldn't keep him waiting all day."

Inspecting the little piece of plastic and metal, Monty placed it securely into her suit's ticket pocket. "Lead on."

Allowing his partner to step ahead, Jethro followed her out of the room, somewhat against his own instincts leaving the door open as they had found it.

Whether by design, fault, or simple poor luck, the Europol office was placed far from the building's action, and glances through occasional visible windows saw their small party continue to circle that structure's large inner courtyard, descending stairs past its store of parked up patrol cars. Soon however, paving stones disappeared above their heads, leaving incandescent bulbs to light the corridor now laid before them, its flanks populated by pairs of numbered doors, and the spy gave felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. If this was what he thought it was...

Ahead, Mathilde opened one of the doors, ushering him and his partner through into the room beyond: a mirrored wall, small table in the middle with two chairs, one already occupied. An interrogation room, just the thing to put their interviewee at ease.

Now his attention turned to the man in question, recognisable from reviewed footage, squat, cylindrical kepi cap placed on the table before him to reveal a prematurely balding pate. Not an old man, nor particularly large man just... average. For his part, Lefebvre didn't seem to want to hold anyone's eye for too long, hands fiddling with the black cap as Mathilde closed their group in, and Jethro caught his partner's quick, distasteful, glance toward the woman's continued presence.

"Hercule, these are George Zusak and Adeline Theroux from Europol, they would like to ask you a few questions about a traffic stop you made late last year... Adeline, George, this is Brigadier Hercule Lefebvre." Now the Europol liaison paused for a second, her tone taking on a more official tenor. "For the record, I'm to remain present at all times while you're interviewing our personnel."

This time the distaste remained off Monty's face, and Jethro nodded to their host, making a point to keep his own tone relaxed and friendly.

"That's fine," now his gaze shifted to Lefebvre, "this isn't an interrogation, and we're not the CIA, but we do have some questions to help with our own investigation."

Stepping forward, he slid out the remaining free chair, partner positioning herself close enough to be part of the conversation if needed, but also allowing her to keep an eye on the rest of the room. Taking a seat, the SWA man looked across at their interviewee, folding fingers across each other on the desk.

"Thank you for sitting down with us, Brigadier."

Across the table, the policeman's hands ceasing to fiddle, nervous features fleetingly steeled. "Well, when Europol asks..."

It was only momentary however, and one could hardly blame the man for feeling cornered.

_He really could have used an emptier room._

"As I said, this isn't an interrogation. Adeline and I are, however, pursuing our own investigation and there is a chance you may be able to help us. Also, I will ask that you do not talk about what is said here with anyone else as it may jeopardise our operation."

A nod. "Sounds more like a spy film than detective work."

Jethro let a wry grin now flick across his face. "You would be surprised how much the two can overlap at times."

Reaching into a breast pocket now, the agent extracted a number of photo prints, crops from Hilshire's set, spreading them out on the table. "Tell me Brigadier, do you recognise this individual?"

Poking at the glossy pictures, the policeman looked across the table again. "Honestly, I don't know how much I'm going to be able to help you monsieur Zusak, the face is not familiar."

"Try and make at least _some_ effort to look at what you are shown."

The voice from across his shoulder was hard, edged with contempt, and Lefebvre's gaze shifted to address it, annoyance cutting again through nervousness to flash across his features. "Mademoiselle Theroux, I make multiple traffic stops every day, so you will excuse me for not remembering all of them in minute detail."

Speaking quickly to halt any further retort, Jethro drew their interviewee's attention back to the photos. "Take another look though if you could, please? Right now, anything would be useful. The stop in question was late last year, on the _Champs Elysees_. This man would have been riding the same BMW R1200RT pictured, with the same numberplates. Name, at least from the speeding ticket you wrote, of Marcello Schumann, using an Italian-issued EU license."

Glancing momentarily again around the room, the Brigadier reached forward to pick up one of the photos, studying it more carefully.

A minute passed.

Finally, Hercule looked up again.

"I think I vaguely remember him, maybe. French was certainly not his first language, his speech was broken but, honestly, that's all I can think of... which means the stop itself was probably quite routine. If it had not been I would remember more clearly."

"Nothing else? An accent maybe? Clothes?"

That got a wry shake of the head and small shrug. "Motorcycle clothes? The accent... it wasn't French, possibly more American than anything, but I don't think it could have been all that strong."

"And he wasn't argumentative, in a hurry, or try to dispute the ticket?"

"Not that I remember, which means probably not. No-one wants to get a ticket but, as I said... nothing memorable enough to make this one stand out from any other stop."

Leaning back, Jethro paused a moment, squeezing eyes part shut to pinch at the bridge of his nose. It was difficult to tell if the man was just being recalcitrant, or if he was actually going to need to somehow jog memories for every piece of information individually. "Ok then... can you remember at all which direction Schumann came from, or where he went?"

Across from him, Lefebvre's eyes skipped again to Monty, before focusing back on the more understanding interviewer. "If I stopped him on the _Champs Elysees_, then I probably picked him up on that as well. After... I would probably have continued up toward _Ternes_. That's my usual patrol route. Again though, I would remember going the same direction, so he probably did not go that way."

"You don't perchance remember where he may have turned off?"

"No."

"Alright..." The spy paused, stifling a sigh, before looking back at his partner with a questioning gaze. "I can't think of anything else."

Now the girl turned her own eyes on the Brigadier. "Were there any issues with his license or fine payment?"

That received an exasperated sound. "Look, I haven't heard anything more regarding the matter or, again, I would remember, so I presume not. If there's nothing noted, then nothing unusual happened."

"And you didn't see anything of note on the bike? Damage, markings, and so on?"

"No."

Monty's eyes returned to her handler, cocking a brow at him. "I've nothing else then either."

_And take everything just said with a grain of salt._

Waiting another moment to think, Jethro finally stood, holding out a hand as Lefebvre followed suit. Shaking it, the policeman then shared a similar, if less cordial, gesture with the girl across from him before the elder spy spoke again. "Sorry to have interrupted your day, but thank you for your time all the same."

A Gallic shrug. "I apologise for not being of more help."

"As I said: right now, everything is useful. If you think of more, let Mathilde know, and she will be able to pass it on to us."

Gesturing toward the door, the agent waited for their host to open it, allowing the Frenchman out and letting him get a little way down the corridor before speaking again. "If he does come up with anything, do let us know. You have Adeline's number."

"I will." Now Mathilde glanced between the pair, eyeing its younger half more warily than before. "Was there anything else you needed? You did pick up the USB, yes?"

"I did. I don't believe we need anything more..." Monty paused, and Jethro felt her querying gaze again turned on him.

He shook his head. "...I think you might as well show us out."

Retracing their steps, the little party returned to ground level, sunlight still doing its best to augment weak incandescent glows. As they turned toward the entrance, their liaison looked back at her two charges. "If you don't mind me asking, how much longer are you in Paris?"

It was his girl who replied. "Right now, your guess is as good as ours... until we have enough information to move on."

At that, the blonde seemed to think for a moment. "Well, I'm sure you remember some of the city but, if one or both of you want a more up-to-date tour, feel free to call me."

"I will keep that in mind."

"...and thank you for your time today," added Jethro.

That last got a smile. "That is what I'm here for."

Reaching the reception desk, still manned by the same guard, the Blackers bade their host farewell. Waiting by the gate for it to be once more unlocked, Jethro flicked eyes back as the desk officer caught Mathilde by a shoulder, saying something to her, which was answered quietly and with a glance in their direction.

_Interesting._

The clack of a latch returned him to present events however, and the fratello was ushered back onto the street beyond. Turning again toward the island's western end, Jethro waited a few steps before looking down toward his partner.

"So, what did you think?"

There was a pause before her reply came, its tone dry. "I think I felt rather closely watched in there, and came out under-informed for the trouble."

"Well, I'm sure everyone was a bit interested to know what Europol wanted with them... did you catch what was said to Mathilde as we were on our way out?"

"Barely. The chap on the desk wanting to know exactly that: what business we had with the city's Police. Fortunately Mathilde was bright enough to keep her mouth shut, unlike her office."

"Rumour mill at work?"

"_One_ possibility." Pausing as a family of tourists passed particularly close by, Monty continued. "It's nice Mathilde managed to get our data package together with some efficiency, that should help us get a head start before sending anything back to Rome. As to the rest of it, there was a bit interesting fell out of what Hercule had to say, even if his overall accuracy was perhaps dubious."

"It_ is_ looking increasingly likely Vito has joined us from across the pond though."

"It is, which makes one more reason I feel less than enthused regards people asking why we're here... I would dearly like to nail down what _his_ interest is before anything of ours somehow finds its way back to him."

"Presuming he doesn't know already." Placing a hand in the small of his partner's back, Jethro guided her through the tourist crowd and toward the Right Bank again. "How about we find something to eat, then set about getting that information as direct from the horse's mouth as possible?"

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><p>Night time in the Quarter: a time to be out and about, to find food and entertainment. From the theatre's direction could be heard sounds of patrons leaving its stone entrance and mixing with student body revellers, carried in through open terrace doors on a light breeze, gossamer curtains framing the scene behind in silhouette. Rubbing at tired eyes, Monty lifted her coffee cup from the suite's small desk, taking a sip, before scrolling down to highlight the next row on her spreadsheet.<p>

"Ok, next entry is the same day, two hours later, and it's PA16-117-7... again."

Finding the appropriate video file she opened it up.

Short, five frames only of time-lapse footage: a BMW touring bike slowing almost to a halt, before turning out of a narrow side street and disappearing from view.

"_Rue Alfred Dehondencq_... again. Leaving this time."

Spinning her chair from the computer screen, the young agent looked toward where her partner crouched next to a large map of Paris, its folds spread across two wide, low, leather ottomans, red marker in hand. Pausing for a moment, she stood to move next to him as he added another entry beside a pre-existing cross on its surface, before carefully joining the last run of marks, ending in a side street near the city's north western outskirts.

Hoisting himself up, Jethro took a pace back, absently resting a hand on his girl's shoulder to shuffle her in front of him. Gone now was her suit, replaced by a black pencil skirt and deeply v-necked shirt, her handler swapping fine wool trousers for a pair of light blue chinos, and she felt thumbs start to massage at her back while they contemplated his handiwork.

"Well, we know why Vito wasn't turning up toward _Ternes_ then."

"And why he was on the _Champs Elysees_."

Reaching up to gently still her partner's movement with slender fingers, Monty silently studied the results of their previous few hours' labour. The camera location for each video file was marked with an "x", date and time noted beside, the probable journey paths between dashed in. Some carried additional lines as the same camera yielded multiple results, those instances getting more numerous the nearer Paris's north western outskirts they approached. Starting points varied, spread out across the city, as did the jagged lines leading from them: Vito was obviously smart enough to vary his route, and not stay in the same hotel twice. For that matter termination points, though fewer, also varied, but at this stage, their greater percentage ended in the wealthy 16th Arrondissement.

Lifting Jethro's hand away now, the girl knelt down to look closer at a roughly triangular patch of green, set just off the larger, more famous, Bois de Boulogne gardens, and around which a not insignificant number of Vito's trips found their destination.

"I would quite like to know what is of such interest to our American in _Jardins du Ranelagh_."

"Perhaps he likes Monet." Receiving a look askance, her handler squatted beside his charge. "It would probably make as good of a starting point for us as any. Question is: where? Sitting slap in the middle of the place probably won't do us much good unless Vito actually decides to wander past, and that could be weeks yet."

Eyes flicking over adjacent markers, Monty tapped at the dead-end street on their north eastern side. "His shortest visits seem to have been around _Rue Alfred Dehondencq_, so I presume that's closest wherever he's visiting. The others are probably where he's left the bike somewhere farther and walked to mix things up."

"It would be nice to go back to Mathilde and get her to pull any other camera footage from the area, but I would really like to avoid trotting into the Paris Police building any more than absolutely necessary."

"Well let's not do so because _you_ decided to visit a Monet collection." She paused. "Something did feel... off, though frankly I would rather we stay out simply to avoid pushing our luck with Rome's IDs."

From behind her came a shuffling noise, and the girl glanced backward to see Jethro drop off his haunches, stretching legs out past her. Leaving one arm to support himself, the other slipped around her waist, pulling her back to curl against him and bring an ear within whispering distance.

"Speaking of the SWA, it probably wouldn't hurt to send Mathilde's data back for Hilshire. With a bit of luck it might help draw a bead from his end."

"Let's finish going through ourselves first, then I can summarise it somewhat... though we'll need means by which to transmit it to him without the greater unwashed catching on."

"Leave Genco and Priscilla to work that one out."

"_Hmm."_

The noise was dubious at best, and Monty felt her partner's grip tighten slightly as he spoke. "Look at it this way: it's either that, or we contact Hilshire directly with instructions on how to pick it up. I don't know about you, but right now I feel the fewer trails we leave back to the SWA, the better."

Drawing a deep breath, the girl sighed. "You're right, Genco probably is the lesser evil." Lifting her handler's arm away now, she stood, smoothing her skirt down in the process. "In which case, we should probably finish this up so I can send it sooner rather than later... and decide on any other points worth surveilling, unless you intend on watching the same grass grow every day."

Rolling on to his back, Jethro looked up at her. "How far through are we?"

A glance at her computer. "Two thirds, and we've still everything outside Paris to do."

"Then we won't be finished tonight."

"We could be."

Studying his watch for a moment, the Englishman gave his girl a hard look. "No, because at some point this evening you are going to both eat _and_ sleep. Not just one or the other either, _both_. We do this for another hour, then go and find dinner."

* * *

><p>Smoothing her Mondrian dress so it wouldn't crease, Monty changed position slightly to one more comfortable, feeling thick grass give way beneath a checked picnic blanket as she rolled backward and, from behind, came a soft grunt as the movement brought her shoulder into closer contact with Jethro's side. Possibly in response, the arm serving as her pillow wrapped up to turn a book page, briefly obscuring her own novel as they lay together, shaded by leafy trees above. Hovering briefly, it was lowered back down, not to the ground as before, but rather to take advantage of the new arrangement and rest a hand at her waist, thumb gently stroking across soft fabric.<p>

From somewhere out of sight, deeper inside _Jardins du Ranelagh,_ came the laugh of children, brought out by their well-dressed Parisian mothers and nannies to enjoy a clear spring day, before the heat of summer arrived in full force. That was something she could have done without but, present children aside, there were plenty of other couples scattered across the lawn's cool grass to maintain their cover's viability, even for this third visit in just over two weeks. Seemingly they were not the only pair making a habit either, some faces amongst those spread out in the sun familiar from previous days. Not exciting days, slow ones, the fortnight prior spent circulating through areas Vito had visited and now, once again, they were back at the start.

"Seen anything new yet?"

Her partner had not moved, words pitched low, just enough to carry to sensitive cyborg ears.

"Not so far, difficult to whittle away who's worth attention and who's not just yet." Pausing, she lifted her other hand from where it rested atop an expensive DSLR to turn a page of her own story. Carefully aligned, the camera's powerful telephoto lens pointed toward iron fencing at the gardens' edge, then beyond, down _Rue Alfred Dehondencq's_ narrow tarmac, her handler's body obscuring it from passersby. "For the greater part it's been the same faces in and out as the last two times around."

"If it makes you feel better, the gardens are about he same... all around the earth, familiar faces."

"Anyone of concern?"

Behind her, she felt her handler shift subtly as he lowered his book to get a clearer view, surreptitiously glancing across parkland and paths.

"None what jumps out."

"_Hmm..._"

A movement drew her attention back to the street, and a twitched finger was answered by the damped mirror's rapid snap. Beyond the fence line, three people exited an older stone building, opposite the glass edifice of _Électricité Réseau Distribution France's_ offices, business names taken down during a previous walk past. Pausing on the footpath to talk briefly, the little party broke up, and Monty fired off another burst as two of three got into a waiting Citroen C6, while the third returned indoors.

"Something happening?"

Ensuring to capture the receding vehicle's number plate first, the young agent replied. "Two new out from the accountant's office, must have arrived before we did. They can't be minor clients though as Reichmont saw them down personally."

"At that sort of level, you need to make_ everyone_ feel like they're being looked after on a personal basis."

"I somehow doubt though Vito would have ridden all the way here just to see his accountant."

"No, but he could well be seeing someone _else's _accountant."

Dropping her hand from the camera briefly, Monty turned another page of her book, before placing slender fingers along her partner's arm as a breath of cool breeze ruffled grass around them.

"What we could do with is applying some names to faces, might it be worth getting at Reichmont's appointment book?"

"Maybe..." a brief pause, "... or we could send them to Mathilde to run."

While he couldn't see her features, he must have picked up on the dubious expression that suggestion drew.

"I know we didn't want to walk back into her office, but it also would not hurt to touch base again at least once rather than just evaporating into the ether."

Another pause, before the girl started to reply. "I'm not so worried about contacting Mathilde again as I am about making her too aware of our own movements. Even if she's personally clean, you saw how well her office was secured. Not to mention she was... _chatty_."

The thumb ceased its stroking, Jethro's arm instead wrapping up around to draw her in tight. "We don't need to get her on it straight away."

"In which case we may as well give the job to Genco."

"Possibly, but this time it's not so much about actually _getting_ the information as it is about maintaining relationships. It would be safer to get names direct from Reichmont, and Genco _could_ run the faces, but you also never know when you might need someone again. At the very least it might serve as a decent double-check, and prevent her wondering where we went."

"_Or,_ it might pique her interest."

Silence descended again, sounds of the parkland and city beyond beginning to filter in on the pair once more and, giving another squeeze, her partner's arm dropped back to its original position.

From somewhere behind them came the shrill squeal of a child at play, followed by laughter.

Another exit from one of _Rue Alfred Dehondencq's_ frontages, this time a moped leaving the power company, its rider pedalling briefly before the bike's tinny two-stroke motor cut in to propel it off down faded tarmac.

More photos.

Releasing the camera, Monty reached forward to once more advance her novel. These really were slow days, not unpleasant, but tedious and, at the rate they were currently going, she would need to source more books.

Suddenly, her handler's grip tightened again, and his voice came once more quietly across to her.

"Look sharp, we may be about to encounter a spot of bother."

Picking his harder tenor, the young spy released her hold on the camera again, hand moving subtly to ensure she could hook her dress's short hem quickly and access the PPK in its garter holster beneath.

Now her head rest was once more withdrawn, and the girl rolled up after it, wriggling around so she could look the same direction as its owner. Propping herself up on one elbow, she draped the other arm across her now half-sitting partner's chest to peer over his shoulder as a new shadow fell across them.

"Hello Jethro, I do hope you're not molesting poor Vesper here too badly..." the voice was plumy, forged in the halls of Eton and Cambridge, it's owner's eyes now moving to rest on her, "...or is it Monty this time?"

There was a pause, and in it the girl's eyes narrowed slightly, taking in their addressor: greying hair, aged face, before her handler finally replied.

"Algy, that's the same outfit you were wearing in Panama... where I was under the impression, by the way, you were still supposed to be keeping shop."

Above them, Sir Algernon Herbert gave a wry smile, face shaded by a white straw hat. "Technically I am but, right now, I'm here to call in a favour."

"Your timing is not exactly glorious, Algy."

"I'm sure it isn't, but I might have something of interest to you... and you still owe me an aeroplane."

That last garnered a wince but, if he noticed, the SIS Chief of Station didn't let on, instead fishing inside a navy blazer. At Jethro's back, Monty cocked a dubious brow, following his movements carefully out her peripheral vision.

"Fear not Vesper, I'm not here to blow your cover, that would defeat the purpose of calling in a favour."

Now the elder man's hand withdrew, holding a large brown envelope, and she relaxed slightly as it was dropped in front of Jethro.

"Mr. Blacker, you're needed."

Eyeing the other spy warily, her partner unwound red string holding the envelope closed, to extract a single glossy photo print. Taking a moment to study it, he handed it back to Monty. The picture was obviously taken at night, marred by a CCTV camera's grainy patina. Under blown-out lights however was laid the unmistakable spread of shipping containers across a wharf hardstand and, nestled between them... she glanced up, cocking an eyebrow once more, careful to keep any hint of surprise off her face.

Unfortunately their new companion either noticed something in that anyway, or was not buying in, because the look she received in return was equally dry. "We're Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service, Ms. Vesper... it's our _job_ to know what people are up to, particularly when it pertains to one of our own, present or past. What say we go and find somewhere more private to talk?"

* * *

><p>Wariness of its other scattered visitors made for a quiet walk across <em>Jardins du Ranelagh<em>, Monty trotting along on the far side of her handler from Algernon, heels of tall boots sinking into soft grass, before finally reaching a stretch of gravel footpath. Out the corner of one eye, the young agent watched their new companion closely: still the same slightly rotund, slightly chinless, slightly greying man, in the same crisp white shirt and cream chinos, she had originally met in Panama... and still just as dangerously sharp to boot.

And now he had not only found them, but somehow also knew a precise piece of their recent history... a situation the potential implications of which would take some time to digest, implications she was not entirely comfortable with.

Emerging from the garden's southern extremity onto a leafy, tree-lined avenue, Algy lead the pair along a row of parked cars, eventually halting by the curvaceous, light blue shape of a Citroën DS, resting low on its haunches at the kerbside. Waiting for their impromptu host to unlock his 60's-vintage transport, Jethro opened a rear door so Monty could slide onto plush leather benching, before accepting a hessian market bag containing the dregs of their picnic. Seeing her securely closed in, he found his own place in the front, taking a position which would let her lean easily in on any ensuing conversation.

The clack of another door signalled Algy's entry and, starting the engine, he waited for it to warm as the car rose smoothly from tarmac on hydraulic suspension.

In the passenger seat, her handler glanced across at his former colleague. "Not your usual fare Algernon, I seem to remember you getting around in a Bristol."

"And I continue to do so but, when in Rome...

"...do as the French?"

Reversing slightly, the old spy flicked on an indicator, before finding first and edging out into slow-moving traffic, letting its lethargic tide carry their vehicle along, under the Bois de Boulogne and onto the Boulevard Périphérique, crossing the Seine to begin a long, anti-clockwise loop around Paris's southern outskirts.

Listening to humming tyres, Monty eventually spoke up. "I presume you wouldn't care to shed any light on how you located us?"

Pulling back in front of a lumbering lorry, Algernon glanced at her in the rear view mirror. "I'm not going to say it was easy, young Jethro here learned from the best, and he always was particularly good at disappearing. However, as I said: we_ are_ the SIS, and we have been doing this for a very long time."

She wasn't going to get an answer then, not entirely surprising, but that left her remaining options at educated guesswork and not much else. It was unlikely any leak had come from within the SWA, the only three people aware of their intended destination were, insofar as she could tell, trustworthy. Moreover, the fratello had been very careful to leave Italy aimed at Croatia, a story which would be backed by Genco, Priscilla, and Hilshire should they be questioned on the subject.

However, if the leak had not come from Italy, that left their having been found to occur in Paris itself.

Propping her head up on one elbow, the girl watched as Seine waters passed beneath them for a second time, meaning they must have made it right around to the town proper's south eastern edge.

The SIS couldn't have enough resources to scour the city inch by inch which, she was given to believe, was not really its style anyway, and it was also highly unlikely Algernon had simply chosen to wander through their little patch of parkland by pure coincidence. That meant a mole somewhere else, probably encountered by chance as part of their continued dealings, but even a mole needed to know what to look out for...

Now however, her attention was drawn elsewhere as Algy left the motorway, looping around to follow the river's path east, carrying on farther from Paris' central arrondissements and ducking finally into outlying suburbs.

There was more space here, tiny inner-city apartments replaced by houses and gardens, surrounded by high stone and iron, and the girl was given time to take it in as their driver used the narrow lines of sight afforded to clear his tail. Seemingly content with the result, he turned down another suburban street, swinging sharply into a driveway as flaking gates under ivy-topped walls opened to allow passage. No sooner had the car halted in its low rooved garage than the doors began to close again, outer wood faces apparently backed by solid steel bars. The rest of the space however more matched their outward appearance, lit by a single naked bulb and white framed casement windows looking into a small, shaded courtyard.

Allowing the car to idle down for a moment, Algy killed the engine, before motioning his guests to climb out.

"Welcome to our _Avenue des Ailantes_ safe house. Come inside and we'll discuss what's required further."

Exiting the garage, Monty waited for their host to secure it, before letting herself be guided around the courtyard's gravel path, past heavily foliaged gardens to the front door of a tall villa, shutters closed and flaking like the garage outside. From here could be seen that the solid wall ran right around three and a bit sides of the property, its fourth partly formed by the building it served, street frontage's ivy headdress butting up to ancient render in a natural barrier against would-be voyeurs.

As she felt Jethro shuffle her backward slightly, there was the rattle of a lock, and they were ushered inside onto rough stone flooring, raw wood steps leading up to the next level. Turning past those however, the fratello was directed to an equally rustic kitchen, stone sink along one wall and iron stove in its hearth, just visible under thin slits of light eking through from outside.

Squeezing past his guests, Algy flicked on the little cluster of light bulbs dangled over a whitewashed table, before hanging his hat on the back of a chair and moving to push open heavy window closures.

"Take a seat, and I do think it's still just cool enough to warrant a cup of tea."

Settling into one of the straight-backed chairs whence she could keep an eye on both door and window, the girl waited while their elder companion crossed to the iron stove, crouching down before it to block her view as a compartment opened on creaking hinges. The noise was followed a moment later by the unmistakable sound of a mechanical combination lock and swish of paper on paper. Another second passed and, with the stove once more presenting its innocently rustic face, he turned back, brushing a few white ashes from another envelope, much like the one yielded earlier. This version however was much bulkier than that received in the park, a good two inches or so thick, and was placed on the table.

"That is for you two."

Reaching forward, Monty unwound another piece of red thread holding the packet closed, withdrawing from it a stolid wad of documentation, topped by more large-format photographic prints. Making a quick study of the latter, she took a moment to ensure nothing was left in the hardy parcel, before passing them to her handler and turning attention instead to their accompanying reporting. Beside her, Jethro spread the pictures out, flicking through quickly before fixing his former mentor with an inquisitive look.

"So tell me Algy, what would cause Her Majesty's SIS have to take interest in an old US Mint press."

Holding a copper kettle under brass tap ware to fill, the older spy paused, before placing it on a more modern, though not by much, gas stove, the click of a piezo igniter accompanying his next words.

"Reasons, young Mister Blacker, reasons."

_Reasons they were apparently not going to find themselves party to._

"I must apologise for the somewhat rude contact, however time is pressing and you were difficult enough to find as it was." Joining his guests at the table, Algernon unbuttoned his blazer, letting it hang loose as he sat forward, affording the young agent opposite a glimpse of a small pistol, holstered under one arm.

Seemingly she was not the only one to notice it either. "M still hasn't made you give up that Beretta then?"

That drew a sly grin. "Not for want of trying. Passing my Walther on for something newer fobbed him off a little, but I suspect he may have finally ceased bothering... I satiate him by keeping a Browning in the office."

"But he still allowed you out to play with just that?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Letting the silence hang for a moment, Jethro eyed their host. "Speaking of, I'm surprised you were able to get M to sign off on this. I was under from impression he didn't very much care for me."

"He may have required a certain amount of convincing granted, but I can still make a decent argument when I feel so inclined," the elder spy leaned forward to tap the empty envelope, "and pressing circumstances do not hurt either."

Pausing for a moment, the man continued. "Moving on though, I don't know much more than the broad outline of what's needed, thus won't detain you too long. This technically belongs to the Far East Station; I'm just a friendly face to play messenger boy, so details are better found in that packet than gleaned from anything I might say."

Flicking quickly once more through her documentation to ensure nothing remained caught between pages, Monty picked up one of the photos again, studying it closer. Unfortunately there was very little detail could be made out to differentiate this wharf from one at any freight terminal around the world: same narrow, truck sized corridors, with the same standardised containers stacked in the same standardised end-on-end rows, the small shapes of people only fuzzy outlines scuttling beneath.

Thankfully, Algy began speaking again.

"These photos were pulled off a plant monitoring camera on Hong Kong's _Kwai Tsing_ wharfs about a month ago by one of our penetration teams. The footage itself is older than that mind, but they don't like to go in too often lest someone flags the incursion and spoils their fun. We caught the press components being loaded onto a truck, but lost it at the port gate, truck registration as best as we could discern, and any identification on the containers, is described in your packet."

"Do you know which direction it went afterwards?"

The elder spy shook his head at Jethro's question. "Unfortunately not… hopefully not to mainland China."

_Unlikely if the Padania still had a stake in it... one small blessing._

Placing her current photo down, the cyborg leafed quickly through its peers, before looking across also at their host. "You didn't catch a shot of what ship brought the container in."

"No, the camera wasn't angled that direction. I can however tell you that we believe the hull belongs to Anagnos Shipping out of Cyprus. I've been asked to keep an eye on anything of theirs coming through my own jurisdiction, so presumably someone is checking up if they're actually involved or just an innocent bystander."

"Greek Cyprus, with a title like that."

"Yes."

"Name?"

"_Anagnos Dragon_."

The girl's face remained impassive, attention returning to the documents before her... so seemingly it _was_ the one ship doing dirty work for the Padania, or probably more precisely a specific captain and crew, a trustworthy and reliable one: the Separatists' men, rather than those simply in the employ of puppets.

_Which made life a bit easier._

Of course if the SIS were investigating Anagnos also... now the germ of another, less than pleasant, thought started to stir in the back of her head and, as their host stood to attend a whistling kettle, she glanced toward her partner, who reached under the table to give her knee a reassuring squeeze. Shooting him a thin smile in reply, she started to speak, voice once more addressed to their companion.

"The ship's details are included?"

At his stove, the spy-master set about scalding a china teapot before putting boiled water back on its still flaming burner. "I believe so, including her sailing schedule."

"That will be helpful then."

Emptying the pot's hot contents, their host spooned tea leaves into its empty bottom, before pouring the kettle across them and setting it down to brew.

"Would either of you...?"

"How much more do you have to tell us?"

Twisting slightly at Jethro's words, he eyed the younger man over one shoulder. "Not much more off the top of my head, I've been told to keep out of that envelope myself."

"That's not a lot to go on."

"I presumed you… _two_… might have some ideas of your own."

Beside her handler, Monty again kept her face impassive: if Algernon was going to withhold secrets, then both sides could play that game... and, frankly, the less told about their own angle on the job the better. Holding her gaze for a moment, their opposite seemed to decide he wouldn't be getting any more than that, and turned back to the task immediately at hand.

Amidst the clatter of crockery, her partner opened his mouth once more. "Who's in country, anyone I know?"

A pause, as the answer was apparently considered.

"No-one and no, respectively. There's been rumours of a restructure in China's Ministry of State Security lately, and their intelligence services seem to have both been out to prove their worth. For now that has been making things quite hot, so we've had to pull back..."

In her seat, Monty stifled a disbelieving noise. If someone else's inter-service politics had caused the SIS to pull out completely, then it was not the SIS as previously painted to her.

"..._Charlie Wilkes_ is incumbent Station Head for the Far East, you'll remember _him_ Jethro, but you are only to make contact in case of dire emergency, or once you actually locate the press."

"That I can live with, though it seems a little off to ask for work done, but not also see fit to somehow bankroll it."

"Consider this down payment on a Grumman Goose."

Which meant they were on their own.

_Good._

Her handler however was speaking again, having seemingly ignored the jab. "From that I presume though you want us to locate the press in your stead."

"And get it out if you can."

"Easier said than done."

Picking up a now filled teacup, Algy returned to his position at the table. Taking a sip, he appeared to savour the moment, before fixing his former charge with a firm gaze. "You always had a good imagination Blacker, sometimes _too_ good. Use it..."

He paused.

"...now, did you want that cup of tea or not?"

* * *

><p>Stepping from beneath the safe house's ivy-topped wall, Monty waited until her partner had secured the yard door, before letting him guide her off down the street, one hand placed lightly in the small of her back. Supposedly, about half a mile south, lay an RER station... which left plenty of time to get out of potential earshot before starting to talk.<p>

_At least the streets were clear._

Dropping out of the SIS establishment's sight as they rounded a corner, her partner's voice wafted down in low tones. "So that was different."

Glancing up at him, she kept her tone similarly quiet. "It was. I would dearly like to know how Algernon managed to find us."

A short pause.

"You heard him luv, they're the SIS. They've more manpower, more practice, more budget, and have had significantly more time to get themselves established and dug in across the globe. Best guess: someone at the Police would have tipped them off. If they'd managed to lay hands on the same information we did, and ran the same exercise, all they would then have had to do was pick a few choice locations and wait... and let's be honest here, Mathilde would not exactly have been making acquiring that information difficult."

"Hmm."

It was not a pleasant sound, and the hand at her back moved up to a shoulder to give it a squeeze.

"Presumably whomever that was would've been told who to look out for as well, which suggests we're getting a name for ourselves in the old office."

"Yes... I don't recall your ever introducing me to Algy as 'Vesper'. That would have needed to come from somewhere else."

Another pause as a group of teenagers passed, going the opposite direction, their eyes flicking briefly toward the fratello's younger half.

"Mary?"

The girl nodded. "Mary Christmas, Vanessa Lye... or whatever she's calling herself next we cross paths."

"If the SIS has been investigating Anagnos and the press, it _would_ go some way to explaining her presence at _Moonraker_... and in Alexandria for that matter. Presuming she actually _is_ SIS of course."

"There seems an increasing likelihood of it." She paused, taking a few more steps along tree-lined footpath to gather her thoughts. "Thing is, if we believe Algy's timeframe, Alexandria, and _Moonraker_ in particular, were well _before_ the SIS pulled their Hong Kong camera footage, so it couldn't be just jumping at that one tip-off. Presuming Mary was in Grindelwald following shipping leads, or in Alex after the press, it bears wondering just how far back she has _actually_ been involved, and to what extent. To be honest it's not a line of thought I'm finding particularly pleasant."

Another pause, as this time her partner seemed to digest those words, a thumb beginning to once more work absently at her shoulder as they walked. Ahead, the RER line came into view, sunk below street level with tall, white buildings denoting its far flank. Stopping momentarily to orient themselves, the pair turned to move against traffic down a narrow, one-way lane above the railway.

Finally, Jethro spoke again. "No, it's not something I've been finding overly comforting either... and part of me is starting to wonder to just whose tune we may actually have been dancing. Of course, the question then is: do we continue the dance, and is doing so in our best interests?"

Now, Monty reached up to still her handler's thumb, before cocking an eyebrow in his direction. "Admit it: part of you is also happy to feel needed."

The reply took a moment to come, and it was preceded by a somewhat crooked grin. "Perhaps a little, but to echo your previous thoughts somewhat: I don't like loose ends, and this may just be a chance to tie up a few in one go, Vito's included..."

Another pause.

"...How's your Cantonese?"

"Not great."

"Might be time then for the pair of us to brush up."


	4. CH03 A Season for Orchids

**SIX DEGREES**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

* * *

><p><em>John Darme belongs to Officer_Charon, and Professor Voodoo takes credit as original owner of Genco Ribisi. <em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 03|A Season for Orchids<strong>

While pleasantly cited upon an ancient stone courtyard, the Section 02 Intelligence Department occupied a somewhat less comfortable position within the Agency structure itself. Technically intelligence gathering and assessment fell under the auspice of Chief Draghi and Section 01, a fact the Chief seemingly felt required to regularly and pointedly remind them of. No one in Operations had ever felt entirely comfortable with that arrangement though, and so the in-house office remained: small and carefully targeted in an effort to avoid treading too hard on too many toes and, as a result, always busy.

Always.

Resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder, Genco Ribisi made sure to leave Monty's latest transmittal in its online dead drop, before letting go of his mouse to stretch mightily, for once he would not be the only person needing to access it, so he could not be the one to delete it either. Extending the stretch he leant back farther to feel fingers bump against the corkboard standing behind his desk, a recent addition, its confining presence was one he had yet to adjust to, but it did make him feel less exposed, and prevented anyone peering over his shoulder too easily.

Of course, that only really worked for casual passersby.

"Anything interesting, Golden Child?"

Letting his chair swing back upright, Genco continued forward, landing hands on the keyboard to lock his computer. Waiting half a heartbeat, he swung around to face the stocky form of Benito Bortolussi, peering past the partition's edge, one arm draped orangutan-like from its top.

Sighing, the younger man took a moment to adjust a pair of eyebrow glasses, before looking toward his fellow analyst. "I've asked you not to call me that."

"Well, you look after Blacker, and now Vitale as well, all the cush-jobs... sounds like golden child material to me."

Internally he grimaced as the man's tone carried across their airy workspace floor.

"They're hardly cush-jobs, and I really suspect Priscilla only gave me Florentino so all the international focus could be kept in one place." Now the grimace made itself visible. "Frankly I could do without him; the Blackers keep me busy enough as is."

A white lie... well a half truth at least... he really _didn't _need the extra bother, and in interests of maintaining peace, the other half of that statement he was not prepared to utter in public.

"Well, whether you want it or not, my question still stands: anything interesting Golden Child?"

"Don't know, I've not had a chance to check." Much to his own chagrin, Genco felt eyes flick away for a second, searching for a means of escape, while another thought crossed his mind. "Besides, I'll only be dealing with Florentino once he goes active."

That however earned a disbelieving look.

"_Porca Madonna_ Ribisi, I know you get the play with more exciting people than the rest of us, but pay _some_ attention to the world around: Vitale's cyborg passed her _VdCO_ a week ago."

Genco blinked. Surely if Odile had gone active Priscilla, someone, would have told him, and he would have been busy working up a package for whatever the new fratello were to be deployed after first. Not that he would bemoan missing being stuffed in a room with Florentino day in and day out but...

Feeling an overpowering urge to place eyes someplace else again, the analyst glanced at his watch, and found his much sought justification to leave.

"No I was not aware of that, and now, if you'll excuse me, I need to put some range time in."

Bortolussi snorted. "I still think you'll do yourself more harm than good carrying that thing. You're an analyst, not a field agent, start confusing the two and you'll only get in trouble."

Wrestling his desk drawer open on ancient wooden sliders, Genco extracted the Beretta 1934 rested there, standing to slip its shoulder rig on before shrugging his jacket over the top. Shoving two spare loaded magazines in one of the tweed coat's large pockets, he unplugged his hard drive from the computer and stuffed it in the other, before turning to his companion.

"Well, as you said Benito: I get to play with more interesting people than you, so I should probably be prepared to meet _other_ interesting people as well."

Turning at that, he walked quickly for the door, hoping to God the other man would not find a suitable comeback before he escaped. Only once safely in the partitioned corridor outside did his heart finally begin to descend from his mouth. That was the sort of discussion he could do without and, while most of the SWA's intelligence staff took an interest in the Blackers' activities, Benito seemed to be particularly sour at being frozen out.

_Well, if he was so hot on the idea he, Genco, would be more than happy to relinquish Florentino's reins._

Stepping out into the administration block's sunny main car park, the analyst started toward his FIAT's small, yellow shape, nestled amongst much larger and newer machinery. Pausing after a couple of paces however, he glanced at his watch once more: truth be told, he was running early for his appointment... well, sort of an appointment. Either way, he had time to kill and, shrugging, turned a heel, heading instead for the stone entry archway on foot.

_The walk would do him good anyway._

Shoes crunching across loose, bitumen-coated, gravel, Genco passed out of the courtyard, one hand rising to shield eyes from the lowering sun as he turned down the building's length.

_Should have brought sunglasses._

At that, another thought made its presence known and, patting at a jacket pocket he sighed: in his haste to exit not only had he forgotten sunglasses, but extra ammunition as well, the small box previously procured still residing half full in his desk drawer.

He certainly wasn't going back to retrieve it, not and potentially face Benito's renewed questioning.

'_Anything interesting', huh?_

One could say that: two transmittals from Monty in just over two weeks was unusual, though he doubted anyone beyond himself and Priscilla had regular enough dealings with the girl to notice...

...speaking of whom, his boss should be informed as well.

That was relatively simple to do, Hilshire on the other hand... well, that would normally also go through said boss, but changing things up a little did not hurt either, and his accusedly useless new interest in firearms training had proven helpful there.

Still mulling, Genco found the kilometre or so walk from office to range pass quickly, and soon he was strolling across the bunker's busy apron, a line of cars stretching either side of the entrance. Sliding between a silver BMW hatch and black Mercedes estate, he nodded to himself at the latter's presence, before descending stairs to push open the bunker's heavy door, muffled pops of training fire resounding through its hard walled lobby in greeting.

Training was all well and good and, after months of aborted attempts and forgotten visits, he was finally managing to get into a routine with it, but the armoury still felt an alien environment. An alien environment, and one not generally frequented by the SWA's non-field personnel, so it was with a small sigh of relief he spotted two familiar faces, lined up by the range clerk's counter.

Well... familiar, but not _that _familiar.

Fortunately the uncomfortable balancing act of when to raise a greeting was resolved by the pair's shorter half turning around, long blonde twin tails swaying. "Hello, Mr. Ribisi."

At the words, her companion also turned from ammunition and equipment being issued across the clerk's counter. "Good afternoon, Genco."

"Hello Triela, Hilshire."

Before he could say anything else however the clerk leaned forward to peer around the wall, adding his own voice to the conversation. "Back again, Ribisi?"

Nodding thanks as the fratello shuffled politely clear, he turned to the man, one hand patting at his jacket breast. "I figure if I'm going to have the gun I should probably learn to use it too."

"How's that going for you?"

The analyst hesitated, which seemed to be all the information needed.

"That good huh?" Pausing to pass a form across, the man apparently took pity. "Well, at least you're actually _here_ regularly, which is more than can be said for most of your crowd. Fill that out... I presume you want ammunition."

Taking the proffered paper and a pen gratefully, Genco nodded. "Yes, a hundred of 9mm corto, over-glasses and earmuffs."

"And targets?"

"Uhh... yes, please."

Bending over to start filling out the requisition, he watched as the facility's minder turned away toward the armoury proper, waiting until he had disappeared from sight before clearing his throat, speaking as if to break the awkward silence left by that departure.

"I see Milan had a good game."

It took a moment for Hilshire to respond. "Did they?"

"The scores are on the net."

"I'll check once we're finished here." Another pause. "Have you heard anything new out of the Blackers?"

"Not a thing, they tend to respond in big chunks at irregular intervals... umm, how are things down your end of the office?"

"We are starting to make progress again, being able to track Vito's movements back from the border has been helpful..." Trailing off, the German handler glanced around, holding his tongue as the range clerk returned carrying two, fifty round boxes of ammunition. Trading his form for those, along with targets and protective equipment, the intelligence man gestured for his companions to lead on as, clearing the desk, Hilshire continued. "Unfortunately, Italy's police are not so technologically advanced as France's, so it is a slow process... and we have now been instructed to take Florentino with us when we leave campus."

The little group paused again as Genco's brow furrowed. "I thought Odile had passed her _VdCO_?"

"She has done, and well from what I am told. However, someone decided she needs more field experience before being deployed in-role, which is why she has been coming with us."

Now a wry smile spread across the young analyst's features as he opened the range entrance, freeing loud gunshots into the lobby, covering his next words.

"I bet Florentino is just loving that."

The responding smile was thin, totally devoid of humour, and its accompanying words uncharacteristically sour. "It is making him enjoyable to work with."

Ushering the fratello through ahead, Genco split off from them, wandering down the firing line until he found a spare lane, wedged between the SRT's American, Darme he thought the name was, and Fleccia, the latter pausing to give a friendly wave. Behind, her handler's attention was split between talking to Ferro and observing as the cyborg sent shot after shot downrange at a maximum-distance target.

Personally, he had no intention of even attempting to match that feat.

Running his own target out to ten metres, the staffer swung his Beretta's safety forward with his off hand and, chambering a round, took aim. Inhaling, he held the breath as previously instructed and squeezed, feeling the gun kick as it fired.

So, Florentino was still confined to Italy, and still seemingly under observation, that would certainly explain why nothing for the man had crossed his own desk.

_Well thank God for small mercies._

Another shot.

Having him work with Hilshire was, however, a little close to home for comfort, _that_ he may need to somehow raise with Priscilla and see if she could do something about it.

The rest of his magazine was emptied into the target and, spent firearm being placed back on the table, he reeled it back in to inspect holes now scattered across the formerly pristine surface.

'_Scattered' was probably a good descriptor._

Well, at least the number of impacts on the sheet corresponded to the number of rounds fired this time. It was a start, but he was also probably not in danger of requiring another excuse to meet Hilshire any time in the near future.

* * *

><p>Hong Kong: former jewel in the British Empire's crown, gateway to the East, centre for trade, centre for business, centre for finance, one of the most powerful cities in Asia... former outpost of the Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service, and now stomping ground for the institutions of its returned Chinese masters.<p>

Relaxing back into comfortable business class seating, Monty felt the big Airbus lurch slightly, engines changing tenor as it continued to descend, and she looked up as a shadow fell across printed notes in her lap. Flipping over the sheaf of papers, she met the gaze of a sharply dressed air hostess, that latter offering a small face towel, rolled neatly and steaming in a pair of silver tongs.

"Hot towel, Mademoiselle Lynd?"

Taking the proffered item, she nodded thanks before dabbing at her face, the same service being extended to her handler, wedged between her and the window. Wiping his own face as the woman moved on, Jethro glanced out clear Plexiglass, before turning back to his girl and throwing her a smile.

"Looks like we'll be looping around Kowloon, always nice to get the grand tour first."

Leaning forward in her own seat, she peered past him, through the window onto cloud scattered landscapes beyond. In the distance, lights strung out across Macau's far shore, made hazy against deepening evening by humidity-laden air as it passed by their beam, flight sauntering east along the Southern Chinese coastline.

Sitting back again, she returned her partner's gaze with a small grimace, voice remaining low for his ears only. "I'm still not sure about staying on the Hong Kong side, Kowloon would probably have been handier."

That was answered with a shrug. "It's appealing believe me, though the city is that small distance and location are a bit six of one, half a dozen of the other. Besides, the only place we'd really fit in around Kowloon would be Tsim Sha Tsui with the tourists, and most anybody we'll likely want to talk to avoids the place like the plague."

"I doubt expats make much better company."

"Give and take."

Those last were spoken away from her however, Jethro instead craning around, nose against tough plastic again in an apparent attempt to peer father up along the aeroplane's course. It was an attempt in vain however, and outside the view went dark as they disappeared into another floating cloud. "Pity we're not flying in through Kai Tak: best approach in commercial aviation."

_Sometimes it really was like travelling with a child._

"Something experienced with our friend Charles?"

That brought his own grimace. "'Friend' might be pushing the definition somewhat. No, long before that, a family trip the first time... I think father may have been doing something... I didn't know Charlie had even set foot out here until a week ago."

"Didn't exactly stay in contact I presume."

"Not really, no..." now the Englishman sighed, resting one elbow on the wide centre armrest to lean in closer to his girl, a hand settling gently atop hers in the process and giving a squeeze. "Charlie was of similar seniority to Algy, and they did not always see eye to eye, so neither did I. While it makes a certain amount of sense for us to work here under our own steam anyway, let's just say I doubt he'll be shedding any tears over not being asked to help. In this case, I would be treating our own side with as much suspicion as anyone else present."

Underneath them the aircraft banked back toward land, levelling out again to the whine of dropping flaps as Monty digested that.

"I presume then we can expect a few familiar faces?"

"Familiar yes, but only friendly insofar as working for the same people, and I don't believe for a second there are no warm bodies on the ground."

"I suspect that was a given."

"I'll sketch a few characters you're possibly going to encounter later, so you know who to avoid."

That sounded like a topic requiring further discussion, but later, ideally somewhere more private.

As if on cue, clouds outside disappeared again, giving way to bright city lights below, painting misty bases burning yellow. In the place of pitch darkness, high-rise buildings stretched away down Victoria Harbour, technicolour facades reflected in its mirror, and she took the excuse to drop their conversation. Behind tall spires, dark slopes bounded the city, stretching up to meet their passing airliner as it crossed the water's inky expanse, surface speckled by a galaxy of bobbing lights, and Monty's gaze followed those away, across hazy shapes of ships riding at anchor and on to the bright wharves of Hong Kong's port, guarding the waterway's far western end.

Now, the cyborg felt their aircraft bank again, engine note rising as it looped around Kowloon, away from the Chinese mainland and back out to sea, toward the dark shape of Lantau Island, crouched beyond spindly cargo cranes. Gliding closer, she kept an eye on those, details appearing out of the heavy glow hovering above as they descended.

"Would you like to swap seats?"

"Probably too late now."

Another whirr and whine as flaps came down one more notch, their captain's French accented tones cutting through the cabin.

"Cabin crew, be seated for landing."

Craning a little farther over her partner, Monty felt him reach across to loosen her seatbelt, before nudging her slightly closer to join him at the window. That extra inch made all the difference, and the port below was drunk in through sharp cyborg eyes: long canyons of containers on hard concrete, stacked like Lego bricks by cranes hauling from ships pulled in against their fenders. Those would not be short of supply either, hulls packed bow to stern alongside massive water frontages, lining the channel out toward tall masts of Stonecutters Bridge and the harbour beyond. Algy's pictures had been taken on the western shore, and now she turned her attention to tiny shapes of people and trucks, scampering between metal cliffs, following their trails out a multitude of exits and into the night: good for logistics, bad for her narrowing down options.

And then they were past.

Maintaining her position, the girl continued to stare back down the glittering harbour like any awestruck tourist, across Hong Kong's gaudy skyline and the looming shadow of Victoria Peak behind it, until she felt her belt drawn tight, pulling her once more against the seat.

Removing his hand from the webbing tail, Jethro leaned in again. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we might want another look, I'd like some idea of where the outgoing traffic heads, and I suspect walking into the police station may prove a tad more problematic here."

"Might be hard pressed to find a decent vantage point."

"Since we're on the Hong Kong side anyway, we may as well try Victoria Peak first."

There was a pause, filled by a final whirr and clunk as landing gear locked into place.

"It might not be a bad idea to play the tourist card and hike the peak anyway... but I may have some other options too."

That earned a raised eyebrow, but no words, their place instead eventually taken by a squeal of rubber grazing tarmac and deafening roar as thrust reversers slammed into position, bodily hauling down the A380's massive bulk. That took time for such a large aircraft and, conversation over for the moment, Monty turned back to her notes.

Those at least filled the crawl from runway to gate, but unfortunately presented a less viable option once passengers began to disembark, or in the queue for immigration, express lane or no. Beyond it, the tall-ceilinged baggage claim hall also remained busy, hubbub of voices bouncing off hard walls and terrazzo flooring. Standing next to her handler, the young agent slowly scanned crowded faces around them: a smattering of internationals amongst Chinese locals, the latter talking rapidly in what, this far south, she had to assume would be Cantonese. She had spoken truth in Paris and, frankly, would be hard pressed right now to tell the prevalent local dialect from Mandarin without a prompt, but there was only so much could be learned in a few days. That said, there was also significant meaning to be gleaned just from the tone of words, and so she settled for trying to isolate individual speakers, listening for the flow of conversation; an imperfect solution, but as good of a place to start getting her ear in as any.

The wait for luggage was however mercifully short and, tearing business priority tags from two Globetrotter cases, her partner hefted them up, heading for a customs 'nothing to declare' lane.

Emerging from its far side into Chek Lap Kok's cavernous arrivals hall, Monty pulled up next to him, turning her attention to the crowd of greeters held back by steel railing: plenty of families, a few singles, crisply suited drivers holding up signs for their pre-assigned fares scattered between. Passing again over ranks of the latter, one of those placards caught her eye, and she forced her gaze past, lest lingering be taken as recognition. Apparently Jethro had seen it also, as now he bent down to speak quietly.

"Does our hotel have a limousine service?"

The response was dry. "Not that I ordered, and certainly not under _that _name."

The holder of the sign was moving now, pacing the pair toward the crowd's extremity, and she took the opportunity to better inspect him: short, little taller than herself, with wire frame spectacles and oddly drooping features, all encased in a neat black suit. That was topped by black gloves and a black cap, a driver's uniform, but the way he moved spoke of other professions.

Halting now before the pair he bowed slightly, before holding up his placard once more.

"Mr. and Mrs. Blacker? I am Lau Fei-Hung, The Upper House has sent me."

Monty cocked an eyebrow at those accented words, seemingly the sign had not been a translation error after all. "Sorry, I suspect you have us confused with someone else."

"No, I do not. The hotel has sent me to pick you up. If you do not wish to cause a scene, I suggest you accept their hospitality."

Letting his words hang, the cyborg weighed options: her pistol remained ensconced in its suitcase smuggling compartment, unloaded to boot, though the combination of paper notes and computer lent their cabin bag some heft. This early on however, the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention, and if whomever Lau worked for was feeling polite enough to not cause a ruckus...

Her handler had apparently been thinking down similar lines, as now he spoke up. "Sorry Lau, we just weren't expecting the help, how very thoughtful of them."

"We are best hotel in Hong Kong, would you like me to take your luggage?"

"I think we'll hold onto it ourselves, if it's all the same to you."

Pausing for a moment, the man seemed to shrug. "Follow me then if you please."

Sharing a glance with her handler, Monty hefted their cabin bag again to follow the newly acquired chauffeur through rapidly dispersing crowds, toward the terminal's tall glass facade and passenger pick up area beyond.

Exiting sliding doors, heat and humidity hit her full force, bringing with it scents of ozone, jet fuel, and faint damp of the tropics. Lau was moving again however, and she dropped back behind her partner as they squeezed between private cars, traipsing across public drop-off thoroughfares to the covered taxi-rank, red and silver vehicles stretched along its length making a continuing dance of arrivals and departures. Nestled amongst those however stood a black, long wheelbase, Mercedes S-Class, sinister amid blasting horns and shouts of drivers. Opening its wide tailgate, their host motioned for luggage to be handed over. Ignoring the signal however, Monty breezed past, halting by the gaping maw to inspect inside quickly, around its edges and under the floor, before standing back to nod at her partner. Taking the cue, Jethro put their cases down to be hefted inside, commodious space swallowing both whole, dwarfing them against acres of grey carpet.

"Would you like to put your cabin bag in as well?"

Reaching up by way of answer, the girl pressed a button which would close the boot, before patting at her soft duffel. "This has some breakables in it, so I'll keep it with me."

Leaving no chance of reply, the young agent started to walk again, their driver moving quickly around the car's outer flank to open a passenger door for her. Making herself comfortable in deep, plush, leather, she looked over to share a glance with Jethro as he let himself in on the other side of a deep central divider. Door closing behind him, the exterior clamour disappeared, sealed off behind double-glazed windows, and the girl set her soft bag against the driver's seat as they pulled away from the airport, serenity disturbed only by softly humming air conditioner fans.

Turning off the airport concourse, in the distance could be seen faintly glowing skies above China's Shenzhen industrial district, its sprawling mass cited to best make use of Hong Kong's less restrictive export gateway. That was soon gone however, and she shared another glance with her partner, one of his hands again finding its way atop hers on the broad centre armrest. For now, it was time to wait it out and play stupid, though the extent of stupid would depend on discovering just how much Lau's employers actually knew.

With nothing to talk about in their current company, Monty instead turned her attention to the world outside, head rolling back against a goose down rest so she could peer over the car's sill, not that there was a whole lot to see at present. High fences on one side of the airport highway and darkness of Hong Kong's vast nature reserves on the other made for decidedly uninspired viewing, the stream of taxis and buses that shared this stretch of tarmac doing little to add excitement to the trip along Lantau's north shore. The bored stare did however set useful precedent and, emerging from the island's far end onto cable-stayed bridging, Victoria Harbour's western entrance swam into picture, made bright by seemingly endless ships riding at anchor.

Not that those on this outer side of the port were of great interest either, mostly gas and bulk haulers, but she stowed away what names were visible for later reference. Cutting around the facility's rear however, their road swung back east again, disappearing into a long tunnel, fluorescent lamps casting uniform, shifting, shadows zoetrope-like across the car's occupants, before emerging once more onto wide bridging. Now she _was_ paying attention as, beyond speeding light poles, was laid the port proper, this road over its northern waterway affording a straight vision down both container wharves to Stonecutters Island at its mouth.

As they cruised around its eastern flank, the young agent drank in that view, features still common to any other port, same cranes, same ships, same trucks moving in and out of its gates. The devil however was in the detail, cranes from different manufacturers standing over ships from different companies, trucks headed to different exits to seek different destinations, all of which would hopefully provide some clue as to where their own target had vanished.

Then they were past, tarmac diving into deep urban crevasses as it began to penetrate urban outskirts proper, snaking away from the New Territories and toward neon-lit Kowloon.

Their driver however apparently had other ideas where they were going and, exiting onto another expressway, the car began to sidle along densely wooded mountains behind the city. Soon however their course changed again, plunging south, trading the jungle of trees for one of rundown buildings and narrow streets, tiny shops lining each side flashing bright signs above wares hawked on the pavement. Picking its way along pedestrian packed tarmac, curious faces turning to peer at privacy glass windows, the big Mercedes finally glided to a halt by the side of an even tighter alley.

Despite making its entrance amongst decrepit trucks, no one present seemed to pay the big saloon any heed... bar one. Outside, a wizened man watched them from atop his tall stool, positioned to keep an eye on white goods arrayed haphazardly in a shop doorway, cooling himself with a paper fan in one hand as rusting air conditioners whirred away above. Higher, spider web electrical wires linked crumbling concrete walls, peeling casement windows looking out over patched together tin and iron balconies, dull lighting inside doing little to expand on what lay behind dirty glass.

"You will get out here..." Lau paused, watching his passengers in the rear view mirror, "...do not worry, I will wait. For now, we are _polite_."

Reading emphasis on that last world, Monty cocked an eyebrow at her partner: a warning of how things _could_ go, or a reminder to extend that same courtesy?

The reply she received however was a shrug and, seeing little other option, the young agent collected her cabin bag, reaching for the door handle.

Stepping from the limousine's sealed environment, she was suddenly on the ground proper, heat and humidity of a Hong Kong night once more washing over her, bringing with it sweet, tropical scents of South East Asia, no longer tainted by airfield notes. Carried with those same, bellowing trucks overlayed harshly shouted Cantonese, echoing between concrete walls as a crash of metal out of sight was accompanied by more raised voices. That was someone else's concern however, and now the elderly guard looked directly at her, flashing a near toothless grin before gesturing toward the darkened shop interior.

Giving a mental shrug, she moved around their vehicle's stern to meet her partner at its opposite flank. In the doorway, a gold cat statue waved its paw in mechanical greeting, and she peered past it, between red and white signage, into the gloom beyond. In that darkness, strings of dim, multicoloured, bulbs hung from concrete girders did little to bring out details but, as her eyes quickly adjusted, Monty spied their apparent intended destination. Ahead, deep toward the space's back, a glow showed over carelessly arranged goods, someone's shadow moving briefly in its throw before disappearing once more.

The cat beckoned again, and she felt Jethro's hand rest at the small of her back, guiding her forward.

Inside was dingy, difficult to see, its air close and pressing, tight confines forcing the pair into single file to thread through narrow mazes of stock, toward the glowing light. That was slow progress but, picking her way around another battered piece of equipment, its younger half finally found their path open out, boxes giving way to bare concrete floor. Here, in a little cleared area at the retail space's back, someone had set up a desk, figure behind it neatly suited, watching the new arrivals as Jethro joined her, illuminated by a single desk lamp.

_Theatrical._

Standing from his chair now, the man seemed to study them a moment longer, dark shadows cast across a powerfully sculpted face, and Monty returned that gaze levelly. He was young-ish, probably in his late thirties, warm brown skin and slender, recruiting poster, looks covered in a well tailored suit of British cut.

Now almond eyes flicked to the bag in Monty's hands, before resting firmly on her partner.

"I see you bring your luggage with you. Do you not trust us, Mister Blacker?"

The words were clear, snap of an accent barely evident, and there was a pause before Jethro finally answered.

"I'd say, all things considered, I would trust you to be untrustworthy."

That got a dry laugh, carefully enunciated... the shape of a laugh, performed on stage.

"Ah, the famous British wit, now somewhat lacking in this part of the world." Abruptly the man's expression changed. Joke over. "Well Mister Blacker, we do not trust you either, which is why you are here. I am Captain Zhang Jianyu, section commander for Second Department, People's Liberation Army."

"It's always nice to feel welcomed, though I suspect the Autumn Orchid is not particularly concerned with making me feel all warm and fuzzy."

"The _Autumn Orchid_ was disbanded after The Return." Zhang's words were snapped. "Any spy competent enough to be retained in his own service would know that."

The cyborg carefully kept her pose relaxed at those words, face impassive, fighting down an urge to make some retort or reach out to her handler. For his part however, the latter seemed to ignore that barb.

"I'm sure it was... obviously there would be nothing to spy on once the British left."

"China has its interests to safeguard, that I'm sure you can understand, and these are our people now, so they will be treated as such."

"All loyal comrades of The Party no doubt... I'm not entirely certain who would be getting the shorter end of the stick." A pause and, when no retort was forthcoming, her partner sighed, one hand lifting to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Tell me Captain, what do you want with me here? We've had a long flight, and I would quite like to go find a hotel and a bed."

Monty felt eyes slide toward her again, something else flickering behind that hard gaze as they lingered, before moving back to her handler.

"I'm sure you would." Now the captain seemed also to relax slightly, as if some carried burden were being allowed to show for the first time. "As you are so forthright, I shall do you the courtesy of replying in kind: what are you doing here Mr. Blacker? Hong Kong plays host to enough of the world's espionage fraternity, making their own varying amounts of trouble, as it is. I do not need one more adding to the mix."

"As you already pointed out, I've been absent from the SIS quite some time now."

"Yes, and the SIS we tolerate so long as their interests do not intersect ours. You, on the other hand, have disappeared from the radar almost completely, so your intentions are more... opaque."

"We're on holiday."

"In business suits."

"Aeroplanes get cold, plus a suit is both a handy thing to have and a practical way to travel, you would know that yourself, Captain." A beat as he nodded toward their companion's own attire. "What_ I_ would be most interested to know is how, and why, you were made aware of our arrival. I do not appreciate people attempting to make my life difficult sans cause."

The look became hard again, held a moment longer than perhaps polite. "That is not for you to know. Just know that we will be watching."

"Be rest assured Captain, I have no urge or intention to cause Second Department trouble."

"I hope, for your sake, that you are telling the truth. We will be _watching_, Mister Blacker, I trust you will not give us reason to meet again. Good evening to you."

That, it seemed, was their dismissal and, as the captain sat once more behind his pantomime desk, Monty turned, leading her partner back out toward bustling streets, crowded pavements suddenly distinctly less welcoming.

* * *

><p>There was conceivably some irony to be found in the concept that Kowloon offered a more stereotypically 'Hong Kong' experience than much of Hong Kong Island itself and, perhaps in reflection of that, the journey from one to the other offered significantly less interest than that from the airport. Crossing of Victoria Harbour dispensed with via tunnel, the Blackers' car was soon pulling in under dark stone cladding their hotel's façade, seemingly without input from either fratello member.<p>

Big limousine oozing to a halt in the low-ceilinged arrivals area, Monty changed mental gears, waiting for Lau to open her door before stepping out, bag in hand, and around to join her handler facing the small, minimalist, reception area. Before its light wood and stone entry stood a woman wearing plain, neat, greys, tablet under one arm and, as the pair's two suitcases were handed to a porter, she bowed slightly.

"Ms. Lynd, Mr. Steed, welcome to The Upper House. I am Faye Song, and will be looking after you for your stay, if you would care to follow me?"

Resisting an urge to join the porter disappearing off another direction with their luggage instead, Monty handed the cabin bag to her partner, falling in behind their host to be led inside and onto long escalators. Carrying the small party up through a dimly lit, torii-esque, tunnel, those deposited them into another minimalist lobby, sudden deserted tranquillity a far cry from the bustling city outside.

"Hotel accommodations only start from floor thirty-eight, so we have a climb first."

Now Faye continued on, past fine sculpture and glass exterior doors, to elevators at the space's far end, click of heels echoing around empty walls. Those continued their journey up, through the building's core to its upper-most levels, before walking again across the establishment proper's water-bottomed, full height, atrium space.

Another elevator ride ended in a short hallway, and the pair were directed to a plain door in its flank, set beside a glowing floor to ceiling lamp, corridor stretching back toward the atrium's void. Producing a key card, their hostess ushered them through into a world of clean, light woods and dark, sharp detailing: to the left a lounge area and table, to the right a large bedroom and bathroom beyond, panoramic glass offering spectacular views toward Kowloon from wide, cushion-festooned windowsills.

Somehow their luggage had arrived first, two cardboard suitcases placed neatly behind the bed head, itself faced out to the harbour and, checking both pieces against something on the tablet, Faye turned to her guests.

"I hope everything is to your liking?"

From where he had been inspecting their bags, Jethro gave her a cheeky grin. "I'm impressed, I don't think I saw a single stray housekeeping trolley or room service tray on our way in."

That got a polite smile. "Yes, and you never will."

"Trade secrets?"

Again the smile, this one more conspiratorial and, producing a stylus, she held it and the pad out. "If one of you could please sign?"

Taking both in lieu of her partner, Monty made the appropriate scribble for her cover, before handing them back, receiving another bow in return. "Thank you. You will find key cards in the lounge with your room amenities. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to call down."

With that she was gone and, waiting for the door to close securely, Jethro began to move around the suite, slowly inspecting it inch by inch, his young partner heading the opposite direction, through a well stocked kitchenette and over the wide, L-shaped, sofa, heavy design books stacked on its accompanying coffee table. The dining setting provided, as promised, key cards along with a city guide in neat black boxes, and an iPod Touch, the latter being turned off until it could be properly checked.

Crossing paths with her partner halfway, the bedroom next received her attentions, then its large attached bathroom, voyeur and exhibitionist-friendly windows providing similarly stunning harbour views to those in the living areas from a free-standing spa, shower, and his and hers sinks.

Meeting with her handler again however, Monty shook her head, receiving a similar gesture in return. Content with that, she bent down to open their cabin bag, finally feeling safe enough to talk.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. I do believe it's clean, surprisingly."

"Could be someone expected us to change rooms immediately... or intends to play Peeping Tom." Extracting her laptop and power pack the girl stood again, back remaining to panes of glass. "I want to run a scan on that Touch before getting too carried away, but it first might not be a bad idea to clear out my computer and destroy Algy's hard copies. Clean the room may be, but after Zhang's sidetrack I feel it best we didn't leave anything laying around for idle eyes."

"The boffins did a pretty good job securing your machine."

"They did, but I will be taking the extra precaution anyway. At the very least, if someone causes it to fritz itself, the data will be off. You should probably wipe your iPad too."

There was a pause, and a nod, then Jethro shrugged, turning away as his voice became brighter. "Well_ I_ found coloured pencils, and a notebook, so once we're unpacked I'll look to doing those sketches."

Setting her laptop on the table she started it booting, before plugging into the mains. "Do you think many will actually be present?"

"Couldn't say," now her partner's words wafted in from the bedroom, accompanied by the sound of latches opening, "Zhang certainly seemed to be labouring under the impression there were agents on the ground, but who's still around will likely have changed well and truly since I was collecting Her Majesty's paycheques. That said, if Charlie _is_ here, then you can stand fairly assured he'll have brought one or two with him, probably Martin for starters."

Computer booted, Monty plugged her phone into it and, commencing the transfer of everything pertaining to their current engagement, moved through to join her handler. Finding suitcases already half empty, she inspected firearms removed from their shielded hole: two pistols, two magazines each, one suppressor between them, and fifty rounds of ammunition, all accounted for.

"Martin?"

"Martin Case, he joined the service about the same time I did... interesting piece of work. Charlie recruited him straight out of one of the better universities, old school tie and all that, and he is to Charlie what I was to Algy, a protégé, someone to take under his wing and train as he sees fit. However, while Algy and I eventually parted ways, he's stayed on."

"And you think he'll be here?"

"Where Charlie is, Martin will most surely follow. Together they were very effective, so I doubt any of the brass would see reason to split them up."

Lifting her own carefully packed Mondrian dress, the cyborg set it upon one of the surprisingly plentiful hangers provided while her handler continued to talk.

"That said, I don't even know if Algy informed Charlie we were coming. Technically it would be polite but, if he did, then the latter is unlikely to be pleased."

"Enough so to actively hinder us?"

That got a sigh as, closing up one emptied suitcase, her partner hefted it into the top of the wardrobe. "Honestly, I don't know..."

A pause now, and at it Monty glanced back, finding him standing still, one finger tapping hollowly against black, vulcanised, cardboard.

"How so?"

He started at that, shooting a small smile her way, voice however still pensive. "I just... don't. I would like to think he's professional enough not to, but I also suspect he likely considered any dealings with me dusted once I had been turfed out, a win for him. If nothing else, he would certainly be just as interested as Second Department in our movements."

Stowing the last of her own items, a lightweight yellow romper-suit, Monty passed the second case off to be put away as well, before gathering up her pistol and trailing back through to the wood-floored lounge, padding across its accompanying patterned rug to inspect her computer. Transfer complete, she unplugged the phone, flicking through quickly to ensure everything had indeed arrived safely, looking up as Jethro joined her, pencils in hand.

"What I would like to know is just how Second Department knew we were coming. It certainly wasn't on the SWA end, as far as they're concerned we're still in Paris."

Moving up beside her, the ex-SIS man placed his own firearm on the table along with its accompanying box of ammunition, before resting a hand on her shoulder. "And I suggest it's best they remain holding that notion, we're playing with the big boys now luv."

"Which means, unless we got very unlucky in France, the only other interested party is the SIS."

Another pause, and in it, his thumb started to work at the base of her neck.

"I doubt Algy would have sold us out, and I also doubt he would have let too many people in on our involvement..."

"...which leaves the next most logical choice to be someone from the Far East Station."

The thumb stopped.

Content her data was securely moved, the girl leaned down again, flicking through computer menus until she found what she was looking for. Opening a command window, she typed in the code which would set the machine wiping itself clean of all non-programme data: a blank slate, all the tools but with nothing for them to be applied on.

Her handler however was talking again. "Again, I doubt Algy would have let anyone in on what was happening who didn't need to know and, since we're not interfacing with them if at all possible..."

"...that means only a select few," she finished for him, "which brings us back to Charlie and his protégé."

"It does."

"So again: does he dislike you enough to sell us out, even to the SIS's detriment?"

Silence, then another sigh as strong arms wrapped around her from behind, their owner moving forward to squeeze closer, and this time his words were quiet. "As I said, I just don't know. I like to think Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service employs people that will put the nation's interests before their own grievances..."

Reaching up, she placed a long fingered hand gently atop that of her partner. "There's a 'but' in there somewhere."

Now she felt him move again, head tilting forward to press hard against her crown.

"There is... I said I _hoped_ the SIS's people were above personal grievances, but..." he trailed off, and the girl found herself turned to face him, letting arms snake up and around his back as the embrace became tighter, more urgent, "...well... who do you think led the charge for me to be drummed out in the first place?"

* * *

><p>Leaning away from a set of coin-operated binoculars, Monty scowled at the humidity-hung vista stretched out before her. Four hundred and twenty-eight metres, that was how high Sky Terrace, placed atop the Victoria Peak Tower, was supposed to put her, its literature promising unparalleled three hundred and sixty degree views across Hong Kong, Kowloon, the New Territories and beyond. It would have too, had the weather decided to cooperate, and now damp air softened sunset soaked buildings across the harbour, erasing any details from sight.<p>

"Not precisely the most conducive gawking weather."

At her back on the crowded viewing deck, Jethro leaned forward to bring his head close to an ear, one hand slipping around her waist as he did so.

"No joy?"

"I could get some general idea where the traffic's going, but any details are just lost in the haze, so it's somewhat difficult to keep a bead on any individuals."

That was answered by a finger's pressure on her chin, craning her head around to bring them nose to nose, and she offered a small smile, which earned a quick peck on the lips. "That's better. Try to look happy, it'll give us an excuse to come back with a better lens once the weather clears."

The smile became indulgent now, and she found herself shuffled away from the binoculars' pedestal, leaving them for some other unfortunate to waste money on.

Foregoing any further tourist gawping, the pair instead moved toward glass encased escalators, heading down and, letting her partner lead onto a lower step, the girl waited for him to turn, drawing her into another embrace, once more nose to nose. Another kiss, this a little longer, and she felt a hand make its way down her back, over her romper suit's wide white belt to stop at a buttock. Parting again, she kept their faces close, eyelids heavy as she cocked a brow.

"Our tail?"

Jethro gave an echoing smile. "He's tagging along. If I were to hazard a guess, this one will stick with us at least until we hit the tramway."

"Nice to know he can keep up, even if we are making it easy."

"Innocent tourists remember? Besides, it'll leave them guessing as to whether we know they're following or not."

"Not _too _innocent," now she twitched her head sideways slightly to look over his shoulder, "and you might want to consider an about-face, I'm not scraping you up off the floor."

Letting go, her partner turned just in time to avoid meeting the escalator's terminus heels first and, stepping neatly from it, he waited long enough to gather her up, one hand again finding the small of her back and guiding toward the Peak Tower's exit.

Outside, stone pavement, baked in the day's sun, sent tropical heat rebounding skyward, and the fratello made quick progress across it to the Peak Tram's uppermost station. The platform here was crowded as well, equal parts tourists and locals and, standing taller than most, Jethro kept one eye toward the entrance, waiting for their unwelcome companion.

It wasn't a long wait and, as the red car pulled in on its cable, their watcher appeared amongst the milling throng. Most likely he would be too far away to make it onto this carriage, which was interesting. If whomever was controlling the tails wanted to ensure picking himself and Monty up again, they would need eyes at each stop down, ready to follow... perhaps somewhat overzealous for a straight babysitting detail.

Ushering his girl onto the now empty car, the ex-SIS man slipped across a wooden bench, letting his partner take the aisle seat, an arrangement he had long learned better than to argue against. Drawing her in once more, he brought his head down as the tram continued to fill.

"If this is all Zhang, he's certainly keen on keeping us under close tabs."

Pausing while a family passed close by, Monty turned her head up to look at him. "He does seem to be taking a particular interest. Between this and his stunt in Mongkok, I'm starting to wonder just what he has to hide. Not that I'm complaining, but he could just as easily have pulled us in at the PLA building."

"That was rather courteous of him wasn't it?" Underneath them, the tram began to move, rolling sternward off the station's end to immediately drop, leaning its passengers against hard backed seating. "It makes one wonder if he's not trying to fly under the radar himself..."

"...In which case: what about us is concerning him enough to bother, and how would he know about it to begin with?" Monty finished for him, voice darkening. "Presuming they _are _Zhang's."

"Yes... Of course it _could_ have been simple professional courtesy as well, or posturing and, frankly, if you know where the competition is from the off, it's generally preferable not to lose track."

There was a pause, followed by a sound of acknowledgement, but no more as the tram descended into trees. Hemmed in by sheer, overgrown rock faces on one side, windows opposite offered fleeting views of the city beyond, sunlit tops of buildings glowing gold above the peak's cast shadow drawing nearer with each glimpse. Finally however, the funicular rail levelled out, grinding to a halt at its final destination and, standing with his girl, Jethro let the crowd carry them into station concourses beyond.

Staying with that human tide, the handler bobbed along in its current, meandering through tramway historical exhibits, slowing to let the swarm from their own journey flow away. Pulling up before the glass of one display, he took a moment to inspect its reflection, before leaning down as if to look closer at an item, head hovering by his partner's ear once more.

"Any ideas as to who our next customer is?"

Moving slightly to get him in view, Monty shrugged. "Some, there are a few still hanging around from our car. This time of day though, I would hope them intelligent enough to send one of the better dressed individuals, otherwise they're going to have trouble following us to dinner or drinks anywhere nice."

"Let's find out, what say we visit a few bars between here and Wan Chai?"

That received a nod and, continuing out of the small museum space, the spy ushered his companion onto wide streets. Across parched tarmac rose high walls and iron fencing of the United States consulate, lights just starting to come on its gardens and, hearing the small snort of derision uttered by the girl at his side, he guided her away, back toward the harbour.

At this end of the island, and at this elevation, the city was clean and airy, suited to wealthy expats and high-ranking officialdom; gentrified, was the term. This was not the Hong Kong he remembered so fondly, that lay ahead, or at least some of it did and, sauntering down off the lower slopes of Victoria Peak, the pair quickly found their first stop. Still in neat surrounds, he left Monty to maintain a footpath table, stepping across the small bar's threshold to soon return with two tall glasses in hand, condensation already forming in evening heat to dribble over grasping fingers.

Sliding beside his partner, one Bahamas Highball was set down before her and, removing its straw daintily, the girl ran it through soft lips, catching any residual gin, vermouth and tonic mix, before placing it neatly on the table. Lifting his own drink now, the handler raised his glass, using it as an excuse to look along the straw's vector, scanning bodies on its end. Running one arm behind his companion to tap her offside thigh, it then wrapped around, drawing her slender form up to sit on his lap, thumb caressing just below her romper's deeply unzipped front.

"White t-shirt, skinny chinos, Doc Martins?"

His voice was low, and the reply came equally so. "With blazer and slicked back hair, yes. He left the toilet just as we were leaving."

"Could be he just followed a pretty girl."

That earned a flat look. "He's the only one so far with potential."

"I'll be interested to see if he hands off again at our next stop then. Presuming this crowd could cover every station from The Peak, they should have enough to change the guard a couple of times, and they'd have to suspect we're, or at least _I'm_, looking for them." Jethro paused, taking another sip of his cocktail. "How many stations were there?"

"Not including where we got on? Five."

"Good thing you hold your drink okay then, let's see what we can do toward running Zhang out of people."

Letting conversation degenerate to small talk, the pair slowly finished respective glasses before standing to move on. Beginning a leisurely stroll from bar to bar, the warm glow of evening once more gave way to neon night, buildings becoming older and less carefully maintained as they worked gradually east through bustling streets. Exiting their final stop, Jethro allowed the slightest hint of sway to enter his step as flashing markers of Wan Chai's entertainment district spread out before them. Under lurid lighting, revellers meandered along its pavement before club entrances, here and there guarded by short skirted hostesses: visible tips of a seedier underbelly. This was where they needed to be.

Guiding his partner through the throng, past ranks of red and silver taxis, polished flanks painted into psychedelic novas by flickering signs above, he finally found what he was looking for: another entrance, watched by a safari-suited minder. Over her head, writing across the door proclaimed it to be "Tarzan's", sounds of brass, strings, and percussion issuing from inside.

Beside him, Monty eyed it distastefully. "Remind me again why we're going here?"

"For old time's sake, and because it brings back some fond memories."

Waiting for the girl's passport to be checked, Jethro paid his own dues, before guiding her through the doorway into a darkened tunnel beyond, low level lighting picking up small palms and broad-leaf rainforest plants lining either flank. The music was louder now and, continuing down, they pushed through a heavy curtain into the room beyond...

...almost collecting a waitress as she passed by the other side and, sighting the near-bare retreating back, he felt his stomach sink.

He'd forgotten about that.

Glancing down he saw his partner's eyes follow the woman, before continued to scan the room, taking in more palms, tops edging this mezzanine level's rail and lining steps down to the main floor, serviced by similarly lightly clad wait staff below.

_Leopard print, palms and plastic monkeys…_

Cocking an eyebrow she turned an unimpressed gaze on him, voice flat. _"'Fond memories'."_

That was answered with a wry half grin. "The music's good?"

"Be glad you've a grander purpose here."

Deciding silence represented the safer option, he rested a hand again in the small of her back, moving them down stairs and through crowds below as the suited band on stage finished its set. Finding an unoccupied standing table, he swung around it, leaning down to talk into Monty's ear, just in time to watch their current tail push through the same curtain.

"Any preferences for drinks?"

"I've this nasty inkling they'll be tiki-heavy. Pick something."

Leaving her be, he instead shouldered his way to the bar, scanning the menu half heartedly until a spot along its front became free. Pushing forward into that freshly cleared space, the spy flagged down one of the older barmen as his turn came up.

"I'll have a Piña Colada, and an Eye of the Tiger, if I could."

There was the faintest flicker in the server's eyes. "The Piña Colada I can do, but an Eye of the Tiger I've never heard of."

"Do you have coconut rum?"

Turning, the other man stopped to peruse tall shelves of liquor behind, seemingly missing a large bottle of appropriate spirit set directly at eye level.

"I'm sorry, but I can't see any."

Jethro sighed. "Pity, I had a friend used to make it, but I've lost contact with him now... Give me a Vesper martini instead.

Answering with a small nod, the server set about his work.

That was not a short process either, and the band was starting up again as a martini glass and hollowed out pineapple were placed before the waiting handler, who winced at the price, before collecting both to return toward his girl. Threading through the crowd, he found their table no-longer private, two dress shirted bodies towering over her diminutive form. Expats, probably, both of them significantly bigger than himself to boot.

_Sometimes being given the pretty one could be a fraught exercise._

Ensuring to stay out of the new arrivals' sight until the last moment, he pulled up at Monty's side once more, shooting a less than friendly glance at her companions as they shuffled around to keep him in view. Receiving a reply in kind, he reached past his partner to place the rum and coconut filled pineapple down, arm dropping back to rest at her waist.

"Making new friends?"

The girl however seemed to be studying garnish sprouting from the top of her cocktail.

"When I said 'pick something', I didn't expect you to return with half the Amazon in hand."

Before he could make a retort however, one of the opposite pair spoke up, eyes flashing to Jethro again before resting back on the petite girl with a sickening smile. "See? Come and have a drink with us instead."

Now his friend also joined in. "I bet we could find something more to your tastes."

"Really? And just what would you like to bet?" Even in the low light, Jethro saw two sets of eyes flick down toward his partner's deeply unzipped front at her words, and his resting hand involuntarily tightened. Before either could reply however, Monty continued and, though he couldn't see her face, he felt her lean forward slightly. The movement's accompanying heavy lidded expression didn't require much brain power to visualise.

"I'll tell you what. How about you... _gentlemen_... go and pick me something each and, if I like it, we can find somewhere else to discuss this further."

"How do we know you'll stay put."

"You're just going to need to trust me aren't you? If you can't do that here, how can you expect to do so anywhere else?"

Now the two glanced at each other, the larger one's mouth beginning to open, only to be once more cut off. "Go on, run along... it's the best offer you will get all night."

Another glance, and the pair turned, swaying slightly as they ducked away into the hubbub.

Looking down, Jethro turned his girl to face him, slipping her a quick smile. "I'm done, did you want to hang around for them to get back?"

"Not particularly."

"Thought as much."

Giving the two another few seconds to be properly gone, with enough crowd intervening to prevent their returning in a hurry, the fratello swung toward stairs, leaving untouched drinks behind.

Exiting back onto the street, Jethro carefully arranged his face into an expression of relief, before aiming his partner along its length, putting distance between themselves and Tarzan's doors.

"At least those two gave us an excuse to leave somewhat expeditiously."

Glancing at the auburn-haired figure at his side, the spy gave her another half grin, squeezing her in against himself as he did so. "There is that. All the same, and I don't know about you, but I think I've seen enough bars for one night. What say we find something to eat?"

"I think that sounds _exceptional_."

Another grin. "Good, because there's a Cantonese barbeque a few streets over may be very worthwhile visiting about now."

Rundown compared to its more gentrified twin farther west Wan Chai may have been, but the older streets made excellent ground on which to perform a half-hearted clearance drill. Devoid of a similarly handy reason to leave, their tail had been left in the club but, if Zhang were organised, a replacement should have been waiting outside and, passing the turn he should have taken, Jethro moved farther into the milling crowd.

Eventually cutting down a darker lane, leaving neon lights to silhouette anyone at its entrance, he placed Monty against the wall. Bending down to plant a kiss on her lips, he moved to her cheek before beginning to work downward, giving her excuse to look back toward the lane's entrance, one slender fingered hand settling upon the back of his scalp as he proceeded down her neck.

He was nose to collar bone before feeling himself pushed back.

"Careful, people are watching."

One hand on the zipper ring-pull just below her sternum, he lifted eyes to her face, expression querying. "Anyone we know?"

"Yes, oddly. Across the way."

Nuzzling briefly into where neck met shoulder as her caressing hand lifted him back up, he used that movement to glance sideways, catching the figure observing them from the street's far kerb, floating on the edge of a similarly dressed crowd. The blazer was over a shoulder now, but slicked back hair remained above the same features and, as another passer by looked curiously at their hiding spot, he took the opportunity to gather Monty up, hustling her toward the lane's far end, girl making a show of lifting her zipper half an inch as they went.

Merging into thoroughfare foot traffic beyond, the pair slowed to give their follower a chance to close again, and Jethro leaned down toward his partner once more.

"Zhang must be short warm bodies if we're back to the start now."

"Or he's decided not to show his full hand straight up. We're not right back to the start either, but that's definitely the same tail as followed us from the tram stop."

"I think we should call him 'John'."

That suggestion earned a withering look, and he threw it a big grin in return.

Monty cocked an eyebrow. "Feel lucky I'm willing to put up with you, no-one else would."

The grin stayed.

Passing a bus stop, Jethro's gaze swung toward its waiting double decker, finding their returned tail hurrying through the crowd in its reflective rear glass. Content they had been reacquired, he put an arm around his partner's shoulders once more, guiding her back toward their original destination.

And not before time, he was getting properly hungry.

Packed with so much wealth, Hong Kong offered a myriad of high-end restaurant options, happy to charge all comers correspondingly extravagant prices for exquisitely prepared meals. They were, however, not the only places to taste exceptional food and, turning down another neon-lit backstreet, he found what he had been seeking: a tiny shop, strings of whole cooked ducks hanging in its window.

Guiding Monty inside through a heavy strip curtain they were met by a chattering din, and he let the small space's noise, smell and heat wash over him, suppressing a smile as the crowded interior's clamour bounced off hard walls and floors. Pausing in the doorway, the pair found themselves being waved through by a small woman in a cheap vinyl apron who, bustling up, said something rapidly in Cantonese above the racket.

At her words, Jethro's smile became fixed and, trying to prevent its being replaced by a more confused expression, the Englishman tentatively held up two fingers, rapidly searching his own minimal and rusty grasp on the language. "Umm... _ngóh séung... dehng yātjèung tói?_"

The waitress looked puzzled for a moment, then a grin spread across her face. "Table?"

The grin was returned, accompanied by an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, please."

Being motioned energetically to a place up against one wall, the fratello was directed onto cheap plastic chairs, his girl taking the outward facing position, as their new hostess pointed to sheets of paper arranged under the setting's glass surface.

"Menu."

Jethro nodded, his partner echoing the sentiment. "_Ḿhgòi._"

As the woman moved away, he leaned forward. "I must admit, it's taking somewhat longer to get a handle on the language again than I would like."

"Be glad you've not had to start from scratch." Now, his partner tapped the table top. "Can you read any of this?"

Following her motion, he studied the paper beneath, small characters strewn across it, as the buzz of conversation and clatter of plastic cups and chop sticks continued around them.

"Some, the writing's the same whether it be Cantonese or Mandarin, so I've a fighting chance..." he circled one block of text with a finger, "...these are all duck."

Working down the pages to find familiar symbols, he read out what he could, trying to string them together until the waitress mercifully returned again. Placing a large jug of hot tea on the table, she pulled out a paper pad.

_At least they'd know vaguely what their order contained..._

"Food."

Pointing randomly at an entry in the duck area, he gave her a worried grin. _"Ḿhgòi?"_

Nodding, she turned to Monty, who made her own, equally random, selection.

"Drink."

At that the handler shook his head to point instead to their jug. Receiving another nod in return, the fratello was left alone again, and he took a tall plastic cup from the stack on one side of their table, half-filling it with tea. Selecting two pairs of chopsticks and two wide plastic spoons, those were dunked in to swirl through the piping hot liquid.

"It's been awhile since we played meal roulette."

"It has." Picking out two more cups, Monty set about pouring drinks, glancing outside before re-focusing on his face, voice lowering. "Looks like John has set up across the way from us."

"Good for him, I hope he's comfortable."

Accepting a set of freshly cleaned utensils, the girl pushed one full cup across to him. "Even if Zhang is concealing his hand, that he would even attempt so suggests he may be working with limited resources... I thought the standard Chinese approach was to throw people at a problem."

"Could be he's part of a smaller cell, or we're worth a bit of extra effort, but not enough for a particularly big push."

"Or, again, he's trying to fly under the radar, which raises the possibility he's not entirely got his organisation's full support."

Taking a sip of tea, the spy sighed. "I wish we had more current information on the Chinese's structure. Unfortunately, the last decent rundown I got on this part of the world was with the SIS, everything since has been pretty average..."

He trailed off as the waitress returned, carrying two meals, along with a large tub of rice. Putting the latter down, she leaned in, plates clattering on glass panes, before turning to Jethro.

"Tiger will see you. Two night. On Kellet. Dress."

"Thank you."

Looking across at his partner as they were left alone once more, he gave her another grin.

"Though, we may just be able to do something about that situation."

"I heard."

Doling out a serve of rice to his plate, the handler picked up a morsel of duck, placing it in his mouth to chew contentedly. Getting a response aside, that wasn't the only reason to come here.

* * *

><p>Even this late, The Upper House's central atrium remained well lit, warm lamps filling in for vast tracts of glass above, reflecting off water to trace shifting patterns across high walls and installation art to the bridge at its peak, connecting hotel lounge to restaurant. Cascading over that latter came faint voices and the clink of glass, dancing on the edge of hearing, a comfortable sanctuary from bustling streets outside.<p>

Walking quietly so as to not disturb that peace, Jethro drew level with the fratello's door, producing his key card in the process.

Before he could use it however, Monty laid a firm hand on his wrist, pointing toward the floor. Following her finger down he found what had stopped her: no hair at its base... and the room had been cleaned when they left.

Standing back he glanced up and down the corridor, finding it empty as, beside him, his partner performed her own check. Seemingly coming to the same conclusion, she unzipped her romper suit farther, withdrawing the PPK concealed at her back and sweeping the safety off, nodding at him to unlock their room.

Extracting his own firearm from its hiding place he did as instructed, before standing back to let her move swiftly inside, gun leading.

A second passed.

Then another.

"Fond memories of Tarzan's, was it?"

_All clear._

Pushing his own way in, the spy found his partner halfway through re-holstering her pistol, computer already open and booting. Despite all evidence to the contrary outside, nothing looked like it had been touched... which was not entirely comforting.

"Sorry, I honestly don't remember it being like that."

"_Really…" _the word had spikes on, "…it looked as if it dropped straight out of the 1970's."

Fortunately he was saved any more by the laptop coming online and, reading something from its screen, his girl held up two fingers: two access attempts, neither successful. That was a half blessing, who ever had broken in stopping just short of the machine automatically frying itself.

Or course, if someone had tried the computer...

Holstering his own weapon, the spy began to sweep their suite once more, checking in shadow-lines between ceiling and walls, through air-conditioning vents, before moving on to hidden blind recesses.

It did not take long to locate what he was searching for.

Feeling along the spine of a hardcover design book, probing fingers discovered a low lump which should not have been there and, opening the thick volume, he held it end on to the light. Looking down the gap between pages and cardboard, attached to the outer lining was sure enough a flexible circuit and small battery, backed by sticky transparent plastic.

Gesturing Monty over, he held it up once more for her to see, before closing the volume and placing it carefully back on the window sill whence it had come.

So, someone had decided to listen in after all.

Motioning for his partner to begin her own sweep, he picked up the hotel's provided iPod, flicking through its music collection. Playlist yielding up some downbeat, sensual, French jazz, something which would give them an excuse not to talk, he started it piping through their space, before resuming his own search. This was an issue they could have done without, admittedly not unexpected, but highly inconvenient nonetheless.

Their task was however one well practised and, meeting up with his girl again quickly, she held up three fingers, then tapped her ear: three more bugs, all listening devices... which matched his own count.

The question of course now was: what next?

Pausing for a moment to think, he spun the girl to face away from him, hands crossing just below her navel so he could speak into her ear, voice lifted minutely into the hearing range of any any snoop.

"What would you say to a nightcap before bed?"

Another silence as her head tilted back to match his gaze.

"Mmm... I think you'll need all the help you can muster getting me there."

"So that's a 'yes'?"

"Work it out yourself."

Making for the door once more he ushered his partner out, keeping one hand at her waist as the room closed and locked itself again, for all the good that did. Two elevator rides had them back at the hotel's upper lobby but, instead of heading for the escalator to ground, the pair made their way through glass doors halfway up its length. Ascending low, candle-lantern lit stairs to a rooftop green space, they found themselves amongst umbrella covered lounges, carefully manicured plants separating here from the outside world. At this hour few people remained scattered across fake grass, but none paid the new arrivals any heed as they moved to the bar, collecting a champagne flute each, before retiring to a more secluded corner of the garden. Not ideal, but the area looked thoroughly and regularly cleaned, making bugging it hopefully a short term affair.

It would have to do.

Plonking down on one of the wide outdoor sofas, Jethro leaned back, staring up at towering buildings above as Monty arranged herself crossways on his lap. Resting back against a shoulder to bring their faces close together, she let one of his arms wrap around her, fingers now slipping inside the still unzipped romper suit to stoke back and forward across soft skin, just above her belted waist.

Sipping her drink, her spare hand moved rest atop those caressing fingers.

"So that's rather inconvenient."

Pulling her closer to steal a kiss, he nodded, voice lowered for cyborg ears only. "Question now though is: what do we do with it?"

Taking another taste of champagne to buy thinking time, the girl withdrew her glass, subjecting it to study under flickering light. "I'm glad we didn't get the whole bottle, I'm not really in the mood for much more."

"Keeping up appearances luv."

"Only to a point... and I would be tempted to find an excuse to move rooms."

Jethro tapped a fingernail against his own glass, hearing the crystal ring, before replying. "If we did though, how long do you think it would take for the next to be compromised also? No, I think for the time being we stay put, save moving for if and when we absolutely need to. We've been playing stupid so far, continuing to do so for a bit will not hurt... How many did you find?"

"Four, including the book, another under the sofa, one in the bedroom shadow-line, and one in the bathroom, near the sinks."

"The same ones I found then, and audio only."

"Bar the Touch, and I would treat that as a bug also for the time being."

"It can be kept out of sight easily enough, so we can work around that, plus there's plenty of excuse to make noise in the bathroom..." he paused, now giving her a small, cheeky grin, "...and plenty of reason to close the blinds with a spa that size."

That earned him a cocked eyebrow, but he continued.

"Alternately, you're in Hong Kong, it would be a travesty to eat room service every day we're here."

Monty however still seemed to be thinking, finger now mimicking her handler's previous motion to tap against crystal, sending ripples across the flute's pale contents and beaded moisture coursing down its sides. Putting his own glass down, her partner used now spare fingers to prod her face toward his, letting lips linger until she pulled back slightly, still nose to nose, ready to begin speaking again.

"I can't help but wonder if leaving our new houseguests be is not just a tad _too _clever. We're playing stupid I realise, but you're still an ex-spy and, out of the service for awhile or no, old habits die hard. If we start getting cute it may end up arousing suspicions anyway, Zhang's... or anyone else's."

A pause.

"It's a point and, frankly, there are more choices to whom they actually belong than I really feel comfortable with, but that doesn't change that they're there, and we at least know _where_ right now." Another pause. "No, I still think we leave alone. I'm in Hong Kong, in a very nice hotel, with a very pretty girl, I have reason to be distracted."

That earned another deadpan look, the eyebrow arching once more. "Do you have a history of letting girls distract you from the task at hand?"

Mouth opening for a reflex retort, the spy froze, words never making it out... she knew the answer to that, he knew she did.

Sighing, he let shoulders slump, giving his partner a comforting squeeze. "I may have done so once or twice, yes... but not for very long, and we can always find an excuse to kick our listeners out later."

Lips closing on the rim of her glass again, Monty nodded slowly, which was probably as close to agreement as he was going to get, and so he continued.

"For now though, Tiger can't meet us for another two days, so what do we do to fill the time?"

Silence, other quiet conversations creeping in as his partner contemplated those words. Finally however she spoke up, raising her champagne to once more scrutinise it.

"Seeing as we're set on maintaining innocence, and as much as I am loath to suggest it, I think we should do exactly that: remain innocent, play stupid, play tourist..."

"...and see who decides to tag along."

Now he received a genuine smile, but it was not one of humour. "That was the thinking."


End file.
